r-t::/ 



|'_LiBRARr OF Congress."^ 

I Shelf ..K.A | 

I n 

P - - Wi 

1^;^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. : vf 



Lorajry, 



FORD EXCHANGE. 



/O /9 



METRICAL PASTIMES 




F U N T A I X n ( ) (' K . 



FOUNTAIN ROCK, 



AMY WIER, 



OTHER METRICAL PASTIMES. 



/ 

GEORGE HAY RINGGOLD, 



"What shadows we are, what shadows we pursue!" 



NEW YORK: 

1860. 
V- • 



75 a7«f 

1T4 



51278 



Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in tlic yeai- 1S60, by 

GEOKGE HAY EINGGOLD, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Southern District of New Yorlc. 



.«•>«" 



nr 



<^0i^ 






C A. ALVOKD, STEREOTTPEE AND PKINTER, 15 VANDEWATEK STREET, IT. T. 



CONTENTS. 



I. 



Pagie 



FOUNTAIN ROCK, 13 

II. 

AMY WIER, 31 

III. 

MISCELLANEOUS, 43 

Eloise, 45 

A Serenade, . . . . . .47 

Geraldink, ...... 49 

Darkness, 52 

Summer Leaves, 54 

To a Traveller, 55 

San Pablo, . . . , , 56 
Lines at Sea, . . . . .60 

Agnes, 62 

Miserere, ...... 64 

Nannie Darling, .... 67 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Oh ! WOULD I WERE WITH Thee Forever, VO 

The Two Violets, .... 12 

Oh ! WOULD I WERE Free, ... '78 

Life, 81 

The Dog and the Crocodile, . . 86 

An Evening Sketch, .... 87 

Rosalinda, ...... 90 

Now when the Shades, etc., . . 93 

Lost at Sea, ...... 94 

Death, 97 

Unselfish Love, . . . . .100 

Down by Silent Waters, . . . 102 

Fortune's Favorite, .... 105 

Longings, ...... 108 

A Winter Elegy, . . . . . ' 111 

Confidence, ..... 114 

Margaret, 117 

The Bridal Morn, .... 121 

To Miss K. M., on IIer Wedding Day, . 129 

Cast Down, 131 

The Yellow Fever, . . . .133 

Hope And Despair, .... 136 



CONTENTS. 7 

Page 

After an Illness, ..... 141 
Memory of Ciiildiiood, . . . 143 

The Dying Girl to her Lover, . .146 
Morning, ...... 147 

Night, 151 

Spirit of the Night Wind, . . 156 

To Miss II. McT,, 161 

A Night at Sea, . . . . 163 

The Two Worlds, . . . .165 

Constancy, . . . . . . 168 

Rhymes about the Cable, . . .171 
For All but Me, . . . . 174 

Little Tommy, . . . . .176 

Thoughts of Heaven, . . . 178 

Sunday Evening, . . . .180 

Evening Hymn, . . . . 183 

Auburn, My Home, . . . .185 

Desolation, ; ; . . . 186 

Hope, ; 188 

Eva, .189 

IV. 

GRANDMAMMA'S CHRISTMAS TALE, . 191 



O COIfTENTS. 

Paqb 
V. 

NEVERMORE, 209 

My Mary, 211 

Farewell, . . . . . . 212 

To Mary, with a Double Wild Jasmine, 214 

Lines to the Wild Jasmine, . , 21 C 
The Steamboat, . . . . .218 

Song — When Early Beams, . . 221 

Song — 'Tis Pleasant, etc, . . . 222 

Song — When the Bright Gaudy Beams, 223 

The Noisy Old Mill, .... 225 

Song, 228 

'Tis Absence Proves, .... 230 

Song — Thou art not Here, . . 232 

Absence, . .... 233 

The First Fire of Autumn, . . 234 
Impromptu, . . . . . .235 

Return Home, 237 

I AM not Old, 239 



j0 Pif fi'tilltieB. 



I. 
FOUNTAIN ROCK 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 



mVOCATIOJT TO MEMORY. 

"Artist rare! whose pencil brings 
To view the forms of perished things ; 
Whose faithful, yet whose sadcl'ning touch, 
Of the sweet past portrays so much ; 
And with the tints thy pallet bears — • 
Those sombre hues of vanislied years — ■ 
While warm the bright'ning picture glows, 
O'er all a pensive shadow throws : 
Tliee I invoke ! whose wondrous art 
So captivates the wounded heart. 
That in thy mirror, for each grief, 
Reflected lies some sweet relief, 
A little while the soul to bless. 
And cheat it of its bitterness. 



I't FOUNTAIN ROCK. 

Tliy power alone can fill my gaze 
With visions of departed days; 
Alone can thy unrivaled skill 
"With long-lost joys the canvas fill. 
Thy task begin then, graphic maid, 
"With spirit let the sketch be made : 
Shades of vanished times renew. 
Paint the picture strong and true ; 
And while before my eager eye 
Tlie panorama passes by. 
And each sweet scene, with softened ray, 
One moment glows, then glides away, 
Pause whene'er that hallowed place. 
My childhood's happy home, I trace. 
And grant, O generous Nymph, one boon- 
Let me detain the bright cartoon, 
Wliose faithful outline fills my brain 
With thee, old Fountain Pock, again. 
And on each feature let me dwell, 
Let me scan each object well. 
Each op'ning flower, each tender leaf. 
With beauty tinted — -bright, but brief. 
Then let some glow of generous fire 
With truth and force my song inspire. 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 15 

'And in gay measures flowing fast, 
Call Tip the spirit of the past," 



Dearest of all the spots of eartli, 
That sweetly smiled npon my birth, 
Where first the vital air I drew, 
Invigorate with wholesome dew, 
TVhere calmly slept the unfathomed sea 
Of my nnconscions infancy, ' 

And 'mid bright birds and budding flowers, 
Flew childhood's sweet and rosy hours; 
Methinks e'en now, in summer bloom, 
I see thee in the distance loom, 
As winding down the shady road, 
I reach the gate beside the wood. 
Here let me yield to sweet delay, 
N^or in my haste be drawn away, 
Till every tree, or stump, or stone. 
Rises, familiar, one by one. 
In each some pleasing memory lives. 
Til at silently its welcome gives, 
Not framed in studied phrase of art. 
But speaking sweetly to the heart. 



/ 



16 FOUNTAIN ROCK. 

n. 

At lengtli is neared the grassj brook, 
Where oft I've sat with line and hook, 
And if a tiny minnow took. 
With prize so rich I felt more pride, 
I ween, than half the world beside — ■ 
More pnre delight than conquerors, far, 
With all their laurels won in war. 

in. 

At every step more eager groAvn, 
With quickening pace I hurry on. 
And now I rise the hill at last ; 
The hedge is neared — ^tlie gate is passed — 
The path with sudden tm'n displays. 
Full bursting on my raptured gaze, 
The Eden of my early days. 
And oh ! with what impetuous gush, 
Old feelings through my bosom rush ; 
The same sensations thrill me through, 
As when a boy they used to do. 
How well I mind at that sweet time. 
With youth's bright blossoms in their prime. 



FOUXTAIN ROCK. 17 

When absent for a single day, 

I siglied the weaiy hours away, 

And thought the moment ne'er would come, 

To seek once more my own blest home. 

' TV. 

lS[ow, as of yore, the peaceful scene 
Extends in loveliness serene; 
The white-walled mansion, stretching wide 
Its airy wings on either side ; 
The slated roof, the dormers grey, 
Touched by the morning's misty ray ; 
Tlie stately poplars, lifting high 
Their mitred heads against the sky ; 
The oval plot, the road around, 
Tliat served us for our racing ground, 
"Where oft we strove like blooded bays. 
To reach the goal and win the praise ; 
Yet, harmless as this sport appears, 
'Tis the dark type of future years — 
First print of passion's hand on life- 
Baptismal mark of after strife ; 
For at our childhood's very dawn, 
The seeds of rivalry are sown, 
2 



18 FOUNTAIN ROCK, 

And ciiiulation's germ is nursed 

WitL fostering care, until, at first 

A puny slirub, it grows to be 

Anibitioirs deadly Upas tree. 

Alas ! the troubled heart of man 

TliroDs on through life as it began ; 

"With youth's first flush 'tis taught to cra\e, 

Nor finds repose but in the grave. 

V. 

Hc^ quiet sleeps the grassy green ! 
Here at the musing hour of e'en, 
When cooling dews begin to fall, 
'Tis sweet, beneath this old gray wall, 
"Where thickly weaves the mantling vine. 
To mark the twilight's mild decline, 
As its last ling'ring tints decay 
Before the full moon's mellow ray, 
That, streaming o'er yon Eastern wood. 
Bathes it in a silvery flood ; 
"While in calm ether poised above, 
The lazy clouds forget to move ; 
And the soft hour invites the throna; 
Of insects to their evening song; 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 19 

While all around, below, above, 

Breathe such an air of peace and lore, 

Enchantment seems with gentle swaj, 

To lure the willing soul away. 

But changed with manhood's serious years. 

This holy, quiet scene appears ; 

The present hath, with altered mien, 

Thrust its cold shadow in between, 

And saddened down that cheerful tone, 

Till sombrous now as is its own. 

Yet doth the moon, with tender light, 

Smile through the shadows of the night, 

Bringing with her a beauty, too, 

The golden sunlight nerer knew, 

'Tis thus when life's best hours have flown. 

And twilight cold comes creeping on, 

We look beyond this ruined waste, 

A gleam seems widening in the east; 

We leave our broken dreams behind, 

In heaven's own light our joys to find. 

VI. 

And here, when noon-day warm and bright. 
Had heavenward wooed the dews of nio-ht. 



20 rOUNTAIN ROCK. 

I loved at hide-and-seek to play, 
Among the tents of new-made hay. 
Again niethinks I hear the sound 
Of merry hmghter pealing round. 
From yonder troi>}> ol' romping hoys, 
Companions o\' my youthful joys. 
And 'tis so sweet again to traee 
The featm-es of eaeh ^Yeleome faee — 
The sparkling eye — the ruddy i-heek — 
The lips ne'er parted hut to speak 
In young delight's -wild, thoughtless glee 
Of hope, and love, and eestaey. 
Phiy on, O hlessed ehiUlhood. phiy I 
Xt> thorns heset thy tlowerv way ; 
All thy jovs are horn ahove, 
And guarded hv an angel's love. 
Till, full maturetl, they wander thenoe, 
To light on truth and innoeenee; 
Ling' ring a little season here. 
Making all things bright appear. 
But when years to youth are given, 
Flving hack aijain to heaven. 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 21 



VII. 



At length 1 reacli, in Lriglit'niiig mood, 
The grassy knoll where oft I've stood, 
And gaze o'er field, and hill, and wood ; 
j\Iark the broad vale, the nionntains blue, 
Distant ranging in the view ; 
The pleasant fields, the meadows gay 
With many a riek of fragrant hay; 
The hawthorn hedge with berries red, 
The lawn a perfect fiower-bed ; 
The dingle deep around the spring, 
"Where used the russet wren to sing, 
And, with the robin and the thrush, 
Made melody in every bush ; 
While darting throngh the fiowers was heard 
Tlie green enameled huunning-bird. 
Lo ! in the East the morn appears, 
Glisfiiing, wet with night's fresh tears; 
And playfully a gentle breeze 
Is murmuring throngh the leafy trees. 
Flowers around of every line. 
Bend with the weight of morning dew ; 
The lark pours forth her carol blithe, 



22 FOUNTAIN ROCK. 

The mower sweeps liis dripping scythe, 
While down yon narrow lane, just seen 
O'er the tall corn that waves between. 
The heifers to the meadow pass, 
To feed npon the juicy grass ; 
And quietly on yonder hill — 
Around whose foot a gentle rill, 
By flowery hanks, with easy flow, 
Goes munnuring to the meads below — 
Browsing there the bleating sheep. 
In timid crowds together keep, 
While falls npon the pleased ear, 
Tlie shepherd's whistle, sweet and clear ; 
With chorus joyous, full, and free. 
From the feathered minstrelsy. 

VIII. 

Leaving this cherished scene behind. 
Along the straggling path I wind, 
And soon spreads out the garden neat, 
Like chaste embroidery, at my feet. 
Here art and nature strive to bring. 
Each one, a richer offering; 
Here bright Pomona's smiles appear. 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 23 

To promise plenty to the year ; 

And green-clad growth with noiseless tread, 

Glides easy o'er each flowery bed, 

Leads by the hand luxuriance wild, 

Nor cares to check her wayward child ; 

And luscions fruits of every hue, 

The blushing peach, the damson blue, 

The gage, the ripe and juicy pear, 

Low drooping boughs inviting bear. 

And there, too, stands tlie rude old bower — 

The cool retreat in suimy hour; 

Where vines, thick woven overhead, 

Throw all within in mystic shade. 

Here, sheltered from the fervid noon, 

That browns the brow of ruddy June, 

With rested cheek I've often sate. 

And mused upon my doubtful fate; 

And I liave thought 'twere better far. 

When passion raged her frantic war. 

With life still young to sound retreat, 

To fly her fierce meridian heat. 

And for a refuge seek to find 

The bower of the tranquil mind. 



24 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 



IX. 



Now let 1110 to tlie laiicy yield, 
And siH'k the ^'oldeii liiirvest tield ; 
Where, reeliiied in |)U>iisimt shade, 
Hy u spreiidini;' hx'iisl made, 
Wooiiii;' tlu> nneertain breeze. 
That, whisperiiii;' anioiii;- the trees, 
I'ull lVeii>;lited comes iVoni i>;reen retreat 
With wild luM-hs' inTriime, fresh and sweet, 
As of vori'. wiili eve serene, 
T eoiilem[date tlu> l>iis_v st'eiie — 
The rollinix sh)|H>s ol' riiHMied i^raiii, 
lAko \]\v ii'entlv sweilini;- main. 
On whos(^ edi^'e the sturdy troo[), 
'1\> the riistlini;- treasure stoo]) ; 
And hum of distant V(uees lu\-ir. 
Sweetly dronitii;- on the ear; 
Or the eradh^s' erashiiiii; sweep. 
That in a measured cadence l<ee]i, 
"While in rear the rustic train, 
Tent with yellow slioclcs the plain. 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 



X. 



From this fair scene, wliere labor browned, 
"With plenty's <>;ol(,len wreath is crowned, 
I half reluctant turn away, 
Through otliGr cherished hannts to stray. 
But fierce the noon-tide fervor glows, 
And yon oak-grove with wide spread boughs 
For nie a rural bower has made, 
And calls me to enjoy its shade. 
Here scatliless from the storms of years, 
A massy rock its form uprears. 
Crowned with raidc growth of weeds, and grass, 
And vines, that in a tangled mass 
Hang o'er its rough and frowning face, 
I)own to the cleft that rends its base; 
From whoso dark jaws, with constant gush, 
Bright silvery streams of water rush, 
And fill, with sweetly mnrmuring sonnd, 
The leafy nooks that lie around. 
Wearied, I reach this gelid spring, 
Upon whose mossy brink, I fling 
Myself at easy length, or lave 
My limbs in its refreshing wave. 

2 



26 FOUNTAIN ROCK. 

Sweet stream ! liow iniu-h to tliee I owe ! 
Along' tlij current's gentle liow, 
"With all of youth's keen zest, Fd tain 
Indulge in childhood's sports again ; 
Launch i>igniv ships upon the tide, 
Thy tiny waves in state to ride, 
As sails that sweep the ocean wide. 
Or light, from rock to rock I'd bound, 
O'er gurgling runnels eddying round, 
Or watch the little fish that swim 
Around th}' mossy margin's rim. 

XI. 

Sweet Fountain liock ! where'er I stray, 
My heart to thee still finds its way, 
Still in each cherished scene delays. 
And all my l'a\H)rite haunts portrays. 
Child as I was, yet still to me 
There was a nuigic witchery 
In the untVe(|uented dell, 
AVhei'e holy quiet loves to dwell, 
In the dark and lonely glen, 
AVith Meditation far from men ; 
Now leaving noisy Mirth behmd, 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 27 

O'er Aiitu mil's sun-browned hills to Avintl, 

Aiion Avitli fciney for my gnide, 

To thread the streamlet's sedgy side, 

Or hold in yonder sombre wood, 

A parlance sweet with solitude. 

xn. 

Dear spot, alas ! for me no more 
Shall Spring thy vernal bloom restore ; 
Thy Summer charms shall bud and die, 
But greet no more my longing eye ; 
Tliy Autumn's bracing breeze shall be 
Surcharged with health, but not for me ; 
For now thy wide and smiling lands 
Have passed into a stranger's hands, 
And years have flown, life's brightest — best. 
Since thy sweet tields my stejjs have pressed. 
Yet though no parents kind are there, 
To raise for me a pious prayer, 
Or Winter evenings to employ 
In thinking of their absent boy, 
Xor kindred hearts impatient bum 
To hail the wanderer's return ; 
Yet home I must regard thee still, 



'28 FOUNTAIN ROOK. 

TlioUi>,'li str:iiii;'cn-s now thy portals till; 
Tliou<;-li now, witliin tliv 8;uldened liull, 
Stninn'o, voices speak — striin«;-e Ibotstops tall ; 
For there is liome whei'e most wo liud 
To sootli and satisty tlie iiiiiui, 
AVliether it in tlie |)res(.Mit He, 
Or in tlie tiehls of nuMnory. 

XIII. 

When litVs sliort raee shall ended he, 
And naiii!,'ht hnt dust remains of me, 
That monlderinii; dust \\\ fain have laid 
In thy green grave-yard's (juiet shade. 
And tliongh no sculptured stone relate, 
"Here sleep the ashes of the uTeat" — 
Yet tlowei's as fair will o'er me hlooni 
As ever decked a. lu-ro's tond). 
And \o my hundde, lowly grave — 
A hoast the mighty seldom have — 
Ol't when gray evening's dusky Aving, 
Its shadow o\>r the spot shall tling, 
Some loyal lu>art shall come to spend 
An hour's vigils with his fri^aid. 
J>ut not the tears of urief aJoiio 



FOUNTAIN ROCK. 29 

Sliiill tall upon the iiiunulcss stoiio ; 

Lik(! (kiws tliut; w«.H![) nt Hiimiiior ci'eii, 

Yet i;'eiii with lii^lit flic hdicly t^recii, 

Tlio hittcresl. drops tliat spriiiuf iVoiii woe 

Sliiill liud soiiu' swoctucsri ii.s they How, 

And liope, witli joy, her (-Iobc ally. 

Shall u^liisteii in tlic iiioiiiMU',i-\s eye, 

Wlu'ii lui^'cls seem to wliis|)t!r lu'ar. 

That ill a bettor — hri^-liter sphere, 

J^'ricuds uiuut oiute more, thoii<;'h |)arl(_'d liciv. 



^ 



\\^ 



II 



AMY WIEK 



AMY WIER. 



Tills is the dear old spot ! 
So little changed, too, with these fleeting years. 
Life seems a dream — a thing forgot, 
With all its hopes and fears. 

n. 

My heart as then is stirred. 
When long ago one summer evening, I 

Tliis leafy stream's low music heard, 
As it went rippling by. 

in. 

And o'er yon fleecy pile, 
As sheds the round moon now her pearly light. 
Just such a heavenly radiant smile, 
She gave to that sweet night. 
2* 2 



34 AMY WIER. 

Tlius standing here again, 
I fall to musing on our cliildhood's years, 
A throng of joys for every pain ! 
Smiles ever chasine: tears ! 



Our childhood's years, I said, 
For "with my own, another image came, 
That of a little bro^vn-haired maid, 
Amy, her simple name. 

vi. 

Life like a lake did lie, 
No hreath of passion stirred its watene then, 
A youtli of fourteen summers I, 
She but a child of ten. 

vn. 

But as my Amy grew, 
xVnd passed from youth to thoughtful woman- 
hood, 
Born in my breast a j^assion new, 
Rose like an April flood. 



AMY WIBil. 35 

VIII. 

Yet by no word of iiiiuc, 
Or look that might a loving tliouglit make 
known. 
Sought I to let her heart divine 
The secret of my own. 

IX. 

For if I e'er began, 
Ilonor would check me with a stem reproof; 
Her father was my guardian, 
And I, beneath his roof. 

X. 

But love, like light, its track 
Breaks through the cold clear ice of self-control, 
Its subtile signals, darting back 
And forth, from soul to soul. 

XI. 

And thus, whate'er might seem. 
By sense refined each heart the other knew, 
While silently as in a dream. 
Love's golden season flew, 



36 AMY WlKll. 

XII. 

Till by and by, the hour 
Of parting came, and I was sent away, 

At learniiiij^'s source to gather store, 
Life's sterner part to jday. 

XIII. 

And thus some seasons fled, 
When lionieward bound I found myself once 
more ; 
While with a mingled hope and dread, 
My heart was running o'er. 

XIV. 

• 
At length the house I neared — 
Moonlight and shadow on eaeh angleil wall — 
And sttunds of merry musie heard, 
AVithin the liii-hted liall. 



XV. 



Some tongues there'll always be, 
AVith good or bad intent ill news to bear, 

And such there now were near to me, 
To whisper in my ear. 



AMY WIKR. 8t 

XVI. 

Anotlier's name, not iiiiiic, 
They told mo tliat my Amy soon would Ix^ar, 
With oran<ijo blosBoms lu>M ciitwiiic 
• My Amy's nut-brown liuir. 

xvir. 

Stliniu'd by tlic sudden blow, 
Tliat cruslicd the lalyric, liopi^ bad i-eurcd so bli>-li, 
I would bavo i^ivcu tbc woi-ld to know, 
That nionu'ut I could die. 

xviir. 

Twas but a moment tbou^li, 
And then I cast tlie imj)i()ns thou<i;lit iVoni mi;; 
"Teach me, my (bxl,'"' I cried, "to bow 
My soul to tby decree." 

XIX. 

How wonderful the peace 
That in an instant sometimes answers prayer, 
Thus in my lieart could not but cease, 
The ])rompting8 of despair. 



38 AMY WIER. 

XX. 

Yet throbbed witli keenest pain, 
That cruel wonnd, time's bahn alone could heal, 
For though mj heart might not complaLu, 
It coidd not cease to feel. 

XXI. 

Tims, in more tranquil mind, 
I sought the brook-side sheltered by this wood, 
For wounded spirits ever find 
Solace in solitude. 

XXII. 

And sadly here I sat, 
Tliongh fresh as now the velvet verdure grew, 
And seemed, all earth to saturate, 
The breath of evening dew. 

xxin. 

Ah ! I remember well. 
Death, than that day, conld not more cruel be, 
Whose vesper hour had tolled the knell 
Of earthly joys for me. 



AMY WIKR. 39 

XXIV. 

Thus, then, revealed to none, 
Must lie the secret of my heart's disease, 
Nor dared I, save when thus alone. 
To utter words like these : " ■ 

XXV. 

" Farewell ! dear Amy Wier, 
Farewell! forever art thou U)st to me — 

Lost, thouij,h IK) time can evei* tear 
Thee from my memory. 

xxvr. 

" T mii>;ht have won thy love, 
This nia,ht, ])erhaps, my bride thou might'st 
have l)een, 
But where the riijjht could not approve, 
I would not wish to win." 

XXVII. 

Tlie word I scarce had said. 
When well-ni^h froze the current of my blood. 
For there her father and the maid. 
All breathin<; near me stood. 



40 AMY WIER. 



xxvin. 



" AVell tlone, indeed, luy boy ! 
Right nobly iloiie!'' "with warmth the old man 
cried, 
"•That gold hsith surely no alloy, 
By lire that's purilied. 

XXIX. 

" Its right arm Heaven assures, 
To pilot him whose course is just and true ; 
My daughter's heart was always yours, 
So shall her hand be too. 

XXX. 

''AVhih' stand the heavens and earth, 
In time's hand-writing shall the record live — 
God's bounty can, than honest worth. 
No nobler title give." 

xxxr. 

The rising tear repressed, 
Yet might the beating of my heart be heard, 
I drew my Amy to my breast, 
Without a spoken word. 



AMY WIER. 41 



XXXII. 



And many a day lias flown, 
And much of smishine rested on my life, 
For Amy she has been my own. 
My joy — my hope — my wife. 

XXXIII. 

And blessed 'tis again, 
After long years in this dear spot to be. 

With heart no older grown than then. 
For Amy sits by me. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



ELOISE. 45 



ELOISE. 

EouNDED form of faultless mould, 
Sucli, in marble chaste and cold, 
Wrought the master hands of old. 

O'er each temple's swelling sphere, 
Casting dreamy shadows there, 
Flow the tresses of her hair, 

As waves their sister waves pursue ; 
"Nor brown, nor flaxen is their hue. 
But of a shade between the two. 

Deeply blue as Tuscan skies. 
Are her quiet, thoughtful eyes — 
Orbs like Eve's in Paradise. 

Fresh her cheek, but coldly fair ; 
Blush — if ever — faint and rare. 
Flits like summer lightning there. 



46 ELOISE. 

Little doth lior t'iU'o disclose — 

Beautii'ul, but in repose — 

Of the wealth her nature knows. 

Lava lires undying glow 

Li unfathouied dei>ths helow, 

Curtained by a wall of snow. 

Gentle is bIio as a dove, 

But by nature formed to nu>ve 

Queen o'er all the realms of love. 

A erown of eonslaney she wears, 

A^ Blanc's cold heights, a thousand years, 

Have pointed to the starry spheres. 



A SKllKNAUE. 47 



A SEE EN A DE. 

AsLKKP, art tlioti, dearest, and dreaming!; of mo? 
Or liearVt lliou iiiy sonij,- as it ll(»:ils ii|> lo tliee'^ 
Let thy liaiid f;'i'iitly logseu tli}' lattice, and 

prove 
That thy heart is awake to the call of tliy love. 

Not of {jjold, nor broad lands, to my darling- [ 

sin«;-, 
But devotion tlie warmest and truest I hriiii;'; 
No lani;-uai;-e so <;'lowinii;, no music so rare, 
A love can de[)ict, that with nunc can compare. 

TTow radiant and pure sliine the stars in the 

AVhile the great sleeping earth in deep sluulow 

doth lie; 
But purer and deeper than eitlier, must l)e 
Tlie passion that dwells in this hi)Som lor thco. 



48 A SERENADE. 

Come, dearest, enrobed in thy mantle of sno"W, 
A glimpse of tlij form on tliy lover bestow ; 
One wave of tby hand, and no longer alone, 
His soul sliall go fortli to unite with thine own. 



GERALDINE. 49 



GERALDIKE. 



A SIESTA. 



It happened — shall I e'er forget? 

One day that my young bride — ■ 
My own, my charming Geraldine, 

Sat sewing by my side. 

Tlie afternoon so lovely was, 

A walk with her I planned ; 
So having laid her needle by, 

We went forth hand in hand. 

And wand'ring through the grand old woods, 

No words my joy could tell, 
I thought within my soul, I ne'er 

Had loved her half so well. 

3 4 



Al KMi-;tl> ^vc iv:ic1uh1 :i dark ivtivat, 
AVithin tin' wood tluit sli'pt, 

"WluMV ot'tiMi in t)ur coiirlini;- days, 
The tryi^tiui:; wo had krpt. 

A faseinatinu:, fonrfully 

lioniaiilit' sp(U was this, 
llpt)n th(> viM'v odij^os ot' 

A dizzy pii'('i]>ii'o. 

And ohl iaidastic i>aks, thoir svnns 
V'.w o'lM- the brink did throw, 

\VhiU> a tliroad of Hmpid water k^apinl 
Into tho gull' bolow. 

And tluis wo stoixl — I ii-azing with 

Dolight upon my dovo, 
For heauty is so precious in 

The heinu' that we love. 



When suddenly a stop she took, 

I scareo had time to think ; 
Sho stooped to pluek a tlower that ^rew 

Upon the latal brink. 



GEUALDINK. 51 

TnmsHxiHl T stood — I could not .s])0!il<, 

Nov Wiiniiiii]^ cotdd Ix^stow, 
Alas! I saw lior balance lost, 

She lu'adloiig fell below. 

I shrieked — I spnuiij^ to save her, 

When wide awake, I saw, 
My nosi>, tlu^ lau«;-hino; (}ei-aldine, 

Was tii'klin<r with a straw. 



52 



l> A li K N KSH. 



I) A U K N KSS. 

Wilt) liiitli not Irllowcd willi (l('S|)nir — 

LosI liiilli, niid sl:ii;i;-('n'(l Mind willi doiihl^ 

Nor fell tliiit llicrc were tiiucrt wlu'ii life's 
Liisl ]i>\ sctMiicd IrMinpU'd oiil ^ 

Fnmi siicli :i wreck of ruined hopes. 
Home |i:issi\(' down a sweeping' tide, 

1 turned, nnd tliroui;li llie djirknesa ('linil)i>d 
I*'ar up 11 niounfiiiu hide. 

\\'\{\\ heart all ei-ushed as wer(> its rocks, 
And coM as seemed its sih-ut frown, 

I stood ahoNc lliat mountain rift. 
And saw the moon iro down. 



T saw the moon <i;o down, all pulo 
As her own kiss upon a shi'oud. 

And then I heai'd tiie hoUow wind, 
Koveiheratiny; loud. 



DARKNESS. 63 

And I was all alone — alone. 

Upon that mountain wild and bare; 
All ! there are times when human hearts 

Will fellow with despair. 



54 SUMMER LEAVES. 



SUMMER LEAVES. 

SuismER leaves are dying, 

Autumn winds are sighing, 

Heralds sad of winter drear. 

Howling round the stricken year. 
Thus, soon our own short life has iloMii, 

Youth's summer dream is o'er ; 
And the heart grieves o'er withered lea\es. 

Of joys that are no more — 

Of joys that are no more. 



TO A TRAVELER. 55 



TO A TEAYELER. 

To wander o'er eartli's strange lands, 

Obedient to a fate, 
That points to some far distant prize 

Thy toil to compensate ; 
To know that they are far away, 

Who are most dear to thee. 
To miss their gentle, loving tones 

Spoken so tenderly ; 
To feel an utter loneliness, 

Tliough mingling with a throng, 
With nothing left hut memory. 

To feed thy heart uj)on ; 
In thy lone journey, wearied one ! 

How sad thy soul must be, 
With years that like an ocean lie. 

Between thy home and thee. 



50 



SAN I'AULO, 



SAN V A i; LO. 
« 

On! it is !i nii;lit of hciuity, thut liatli druwu 

iiu- tliiis :iN\!i_v 
Fi-diii tin- ulnic of li;;lilc(l rliaiiibcrs, with tlu'ir 

ji;;illaiit i;\U'sts and v^:\\ ; 
With u ti'iuliTiii'sH she ^iH'rts nu*, tor the wind 

is swi'cl and h)\v, 
And like thoughts th:it iiionc h (jiiii't. hi-arl, its 

pulsoH ('*tnu; and ^o. 



Sod the luodii npon hci* (dond-car rides, ot' 

I Ml IT and pcarlv .lA'i'aT, 
Scatt'rini; lVa:;in('nls of a shattcM'ed worUl of 

silxer o'er the l>;iv. 
And hovond the hills thiit fade away as distance 

swims lictween, 
There the tall sierra through the misty deep ia 

tiiinU seen. 



SAN I'AH l;(). 57 

]a\<v- ii line of lurid 1hv:i i^lows llio iiii;'lit-lir(! 

oil tll(^ sli'Miid, 
AVliilc in ci-cniiiv I'olds IIk! wliito Hinoko lil'U 

itscll' ;^I)o^■(' the l;iiid, 
Till upon tlic l)r(M'/o it. rises to ii rcj^ion slill 

and clear, 
1 IaTii;inj;' like a wide and motionless |ia\ili<in in 

llu! air. 



()IiI it; is a, ini;lit, of beanly, lor IIh; stars shine 

sweetly down, 
Willi a. (pnet, i;a/,e, as loving- eyes liavc; looked 

into our own ; 
'Tis a iii<;'lii. to eliarin tlie sjiirit Avitli the toneli 

of other Ncars, 
AVhoro end)alnie(| li(! V(»ntirs jU'eeioiis joys or 

youtJi's most- |)reeioils tears. 



Witli a jjjeiitle hand adowii the silent- past sh(! 

<j,'ui<U'tli me, 
As I move amoiii;' \\\r. forms of tliijiys that h)ng 

liavu coaBed to buj 
3*. 



58 SAN PABLO. 

And witli sure, unerring footstep leadeth to a 

scene of bliss, 
Folded in the quiet sliadows of a night the 

twin to this. 



I am standing hy the wicket of a cottage, while 

the moon 
Throws her waste of liquid silver over all the 

leaf J June ; 
And with happy smile a maiden's young and 

joyous face is seeu. 
Peeping through the shaded loopholes of the 

ivy's glittering green. 



From that home where sped her happy youth 

in blest security, 
With the perfect trust of innocence she cometh 

forth to me ; 
Then with half directed footsteps we go wan- 

d'ring through the shade 
Of an aisle of pointed arches by the lofty cedars 

made. 



SAN PABLO. 59 

And I'm telling her a tale of love in earnest 
words, and low 

As tlie langli of dimpled waters on their jour- 
ney as they go ; 

And she listens without chiding me, nor Lids 
me to depart. 

But comes trembling like a frighted bird, and 
nestles near my heart. 



But alas ! I dream ; the picture fast and faster 

fades away. 
And I wake amid the solitude that wraps the 

lonely bay ; 
And my heart will not be comforted, but keeps 

its store of love 
For the golden land that lieth there — those 

starry heights above. 



60 LINES AT SEA, 



LINES AT SEA. 

Al)URi:SSKD TO MY DAUGiri'lCR. 

On the bosom I'm Ixinie of a calm summer 

sea, 
Tliat seems to be sleeping; as tranquilly, 
iVs though the dark hurrii-ane's wild rushing 

sweep, 
Had ne'er wakened to fury its waters so deep. 

O'er these sweet peaceful waters we noiselessly 

glide, 
Save when a low breeze gently ripples the tide, 
Vwnn the silvery crests of whose wavelets emerge 
The lo^v lulling sounds of the whispering surge. 

To the far verge of ocean now wanders the eye, 
To catch a faint image that looms in the sky, 
'Tis a glimi>se of the land, through the distance 

that smiles. 
Of the Florida coast with its thousand green 

isles. 



LINKS AT SEA. 61 

Now fiides the broad daylig-lit as evening draws 

nigh, 
And a single star peeps from its home in the 

From its azure deptlis seeming a smile to be.stow 
On the grottos far down in the ocean below. 



And Tm thinking, dear daughter, of thee, all 

the while, 
And the clear silvery radiance that beams in 

thy smile ; 
May thy spirit through life be nnelouded and 

free. 
And in peaceful repose, like this calm summer 

sea. 



62 AGNES. 



AGNES. 

Why, poor heart, so prone to cover, 

From eacli curious, searching eye, 
Faintest trace that might discover 

What cloth deepest in thee lie? 
Dost thou nurse a secret sorrow — 

Ilast thou found a joy serene? 
Still thou scck'st from art to horrow 

Means to liide the iire within. 

When upon thee joy is stealing. 

Bringing blissfnl ecstacy, 
Close enshrined, the cherished feeling. 

Cunning heart, lies locked in thee. 
Like the miser's hidden treasure. 

He so fondly gloats upon, 
Deeper, sweeter is the pleasure. 

Thus to feel "tis all thine own. 



A (J N 10 S . 03 

When, poor hlcediiifjj lieart, cxpiriiiiz; 

With the WJisto of hidden ,i:;iic!l', 
Efforts fijuntle, yut uiitirinjL?, 

Fail to render tlice relief, 
Wilt thou not, thyself reveuliuj^, 

Fiiitli iit last in Iritjuds repose? 
Yaiii persuasion ! in eoiieealin^, 

Uului deBccndcth on thy woes. 



04 



M ISKKKHK. 



]\I 1 S K \l K \l K. 

Down hy the scu an old man sat, 

While on the rocks the roii>j,li sea bi'oke. 

"Tell iiic, I pray, what makes you look 
So sad," 'twas thus to him I spoken; 

AVheii, lil'tiii*;' ii|) Ills silvery head, 

And iookiiii;- in my I'luu', he said: 

"'I'hi'ee years ai;"t>! alas! since then 

How many cherished hopes ha\'e lied; 

And ^'I'iel's thai passed lik(> storm-clouds by, 
And rosy joys thai now are dead — 

I'hose joys and o-riet's— a, specli'al tliron«:-, 

That to tlie shadowy past- bi'lon^. 



"Tlnvo ycarp a^o ! it peems a droani, 
r>ut one whose forms are vi\id yet 

'I'hat day is <;'ra.vi'n on n\y heart, 
A day 1 never shall lurgct ; 



M ISKIIKIJ, K. 



(!5 



l''(tr l\vt> \V('i'i> silliiii;" I»y my side. 
And oiif (»r tliciii :i pliidilrtl |»ri<lc. 

" A IiiiikI III' ciicli I ln'M in mint', 
'riic union of llicir licjuis lo Mrss, 

And n(n('r sliidl I sc(^ ;ii;'!iin, 
So ninlt' bill I'nll ;i linpimicss. 

lie iiol)l(> WMS, hIh' very \\\'\\\ 

And one — !i_yo bolli, niv rliildrcn went. 

'' lint, Iriids (■•Miic, <»i- hdoii or liilr, 
To nil who walk lliis i'c;dni ol' sin, 

II,. 1,;,,1 lo sinii'.idc lilvt' I In- I'i'sl, 
His roiiinif I'l'oni llir world lo win. 

l<\)f Ihirt lu^ l.r:iA(«d llir sloniiy iiniiii- 

We uvw.v \\r:m\ •>!' liini !i,i;ain. 



'' .l''oi- days -lor nioiilli.-t -a, wca.ry linn', 
Aloni;' IIh' sca-sidf would islic roam, 

And willi a- deep, conlidin;;' i'ailli. 

She praytMJ and waJrlicd for liim lo (•(>nu\ 

1)111. l>y <l('ji,'rc('S slif <'ani(' lo know 

'riici drcadrnl measure of licr woe. 
t) 



66 MISERERE. 

" To the sea-side slie %vent no more, 
But meekly strove to meet lier fate, 

And with the siniie sweet grace ])eif()rnKd 
The sim})le duties of her state ; 

Tlu'ongh all that weary age of ])aiii, 

I never knew her to complain, 

"Three days ago, a fresh-raised inonnd 
Of earth, I saw with Aveeping eyes. 

I tiy the mournfid truth to hide, 
But in my hca.rt this record lies : 

O'er him now rolls the sullen wave, 

She fills a maiden's early grave." 



NANNIE DARLINQ. 67 



O 5 



kax:n"ie dakli:n'g 

ISr ANNIE darling ! I^annie darling ! 

Ever blessed be tbis day, 
That batli brought us to the altar, 

And thus given thee away. 

That bath placed thee in my keeping 
"While my life blood courses warm, 

Thee to comfort, thee to cherish. 
And to shield from every harm. 

/ 

All! that eve I well remember, 

In the full leafed summer time, 
"When tlie dew was on the flowers 
Blooming round us in their prime. 



Then 'twas in the tender moonlight, 
"With my hand close grasping thine. 

In my face you looked so fondly, 
As you promised to be mine. 



■68 NANNIE DARLING. 

And tliose days were bright and liappy, 
Wlicn the antninn time drew near, 

Wlien the yellow leaves were tailing, 
"When the corn was in the ear. 

"When we roamed beside the river. 
Heeding not how it might run. 

Thinking only of the precious 

Time, when we two would be one. 

'Twas the same in piercing winter, 
Or Avhen oped the budding spring — 

In the joy our hearts were nestling 
Tliat this blessed day would bring. 

Yes, my darling, darling Kannie ! 

Ever blessed be this clay, 
Tliat hath brought us to the altar, 

And thus given thee away. 

In the summer — in the autumn — 
In the winter — in the spring, 

I have loved my darling l^annie. 
Best of every earthly thing. 



N ANN IK DARLING. 



69 



Tliroii^Hi tlif l»>ii«; vfurs will J love Iht — 
Till tlir fiul ..f lift' ^lmll l.e— 

Till till' iiio>s is oil iiiv ^nive-rttoiit' — 
Ave I fur all (.•tLTiiitv I 



70 on 1 WOULD I WERE 



O II ! WOULD I W E E E WIT H 
T 11 E E F O R E y E E ! 

On ! would I were witli tliee forever, 

Oil! would tliat M'e never iiiiglit part, 
That tlie joy tliat now tlirills me might ever 

Fill lip every Ycm of my heart. 
I have traveled the I'airy world over, 

I have tasted of many a lili.ss. 
But 'twas madness to ho])e to discover 

The wealth of a moment like this. 

Fate might point to the hour with her finger, 

That should tear mc asunder from thee. 
Yet my spirit would near thee still linger. 

And laugh at the harmless decree. 
But no fancies like these M'ill I cherish. 

Nor fear the sweet dream will not last — 
That the hliss of this moment will perish, 

Or live but a dream of the past. 



- WITH THEE FOREVER! 7'- 

Xo! enoiigli tliat I know tliou art near me, 

Enough that I feel thou art mine — 
xVs you gaze in my face, that you hear me, 

In accents responding to tliine. 
Then away witli the future Ijefore me, 

Like a syren still singing of bliss, 
JSTot the breadth of all time can allure me. 

While I live in a moment like this. 



72 THE TWO VIOLETS. 



THE TWO YIOLETS. 

A DEEAINI. 

As by a murmuring stream I lay, 

Upon a shrubby knoll, 
Soothed by the balmy breath of May, 

Sweet languor o'er me stole. 

The bees' low hum, the leafy shade 
In stillness seemed to steep, 

While drowsy zephyrs o'er me played, 
And whispered me to sleep. 

And as with fancies oddly knit, 
My wandering senses teemed, 

I lost me in their mazy flight, 
And thus it was I dreamed : 



TIIK TWO VIOLETS. 73 

^[otliou^lit two violets, side by feide, 

Blooinod in ;i valli'V low; 
In golden j>uri»le ^^\^v was dyed, 

And tine was white us snow. 

The dews that on them lii:;htly lie, 

The beams ut" heaven disperse, 
While thns in friendly colloqny. 

The gentle j[)air converse : 

'"Fair sister," (jiiotli the piirplf llower, 

'•ni tell th.'.' why 1 lied 
The gorgeons domes of pride and power, 
And songht this qniet shade. 

" In ancient days, Rome foremost stood 

In science, arts, and laws. 
Pleading, in her patrician blood. 

The mind's trinmphant cause. 

'* Twas here, where Tiber's waters flow 
Tiirough banks with olives cr<»wiu(l, 

And gi-oves of citron trees, that throw 
Their odorous sweets around, 
4 



T4 THE TWO VIOLETS. 

" I first upon tlie earth appeared, 

An einblein fair, designed 
To sliow that liere the gods had reared 

The garden of the mind. 

" For no plebeian might appear 

In garb of })urple line, 
While from the roval robe I wear, 

Its tint the toga drew. 

"Here Learning's midnight lamp was fed 

In broad-browed "Wisdom's cell, 
While Folly, oft rebuked, had fled. 
In wilder climes to dwell. 

"And Greatness then had reached the goal 

That mortals might attain — 
A lofty nobleness of sonl. 

More fitting gods than men. 

" But when corrupt the state had grown, 

And Luxury forged a chain 
To drag the shaft of Virtue down, 

That propped her golden reign. 



THE TWO VIOLETS. 75 

"Rome yielded to tlie odious tlirall 

That Sloth about her threw, 
And Jove, oftended at her fall, 

His tutelage withdrew. 

" The badge of Greatness ceased to grace 

The broad and lofty brow. 
And Honor lifted to her place 

The grov'ling and the low. 

"And from that hour, the great of mind 

Retired from city strife, 
Happy in rural peace to find 

The cordial balm of life. 

" And I, the mind's pure emblem flower, 

Alike from crowds withdrew. 
To bud and bloom from that 'same honr, 

In sweet seclusion too. 

" Pray tell me, fairer sister, now, 

Why in this dreary shade. 
In plain attire delightest thou 

To hide thy gentle head?" 



1'6 THE TWO VIOLETS. 

Pausing, tlie other thus replied : 

" Sister, our fates are one ; 
To bloom nnnoticed side by side, 

Wliere crime and tumult slum. 

"Emblem of wliite-robed purity, 

Mv spotless petals tell 
Tliat where the wild wind wanders free, 

Fair Yirtue loves to dwell. 

*'Tliat where fresh fields and woods Avave green, 

And purling streamlets roll, 
The winning charms alone are seen, 

That catch the ingenuous soul. 

"A truth we thus to man impart, 

That oft'nest will he find, 
The noble mind, the virtuous heart, 

In rural life combined." 

Just then, a storm o'ercast the day, 

And rolled the thunder deep, 
And as the vision swam away, 

I started from my sleep. 



TlIK TWO VIOLETS. 77 

I»ut I'lv I shelter soiii|;lit to liinl, 

IJL'ueiitli yon lm\vtl»onr.s sli:i«le, 
I reasoiuMl thus within iny mind, 

And these reflections made. 

With viirions views while all mankind 

( )n happiness are bent, 
Striving with restless heat to find 

A haven of content, 

My standard I have fixed so low, 

And yet withal so high, 
Mcthinks that Heaven may still hestow 

The blessing ere I die. 

Give me a mind with wisdom blest, 

A goodly stock of health, 
A warm, true heart within my breast, 

And competence, not wealth. 

With these, and those sweet, simple joys 

That rural charms supply, 
In some sweet nook removed from noise, 

I'd wish to live and die. 



78 H , w c) in. [ w i<: u lo f ii v. i: i 



on, ^v II 1. 1) I w k u k v u k k i 

"On, would I were fre-t' !" Avitli wluit I'erwiil 
expi'c'ssiou, 
This lli(»iii;lit i;'iislic's up iVoui tliu wells of tlio 
lioiirt, 
Or holds (»r its cliainlKTS a silent possession, 
Ne'er in life's weary lease IVoni its tenure to 
l)art. 

Methinks in tlu^ eye of that wi]ii>;ed })ris()ner 
yt>n(ler, 
A look of sweet pitiful [)k'a(li.n<>; 1 see, 
And the song he is singing so plaintive and 
tender, 
Tells his ea[>ti\H> heart's longing " Oh, Mould 
I were free !" 



-on, WOULD I WKRi<; ki:1';ki 7!) 

•'Oh, would I W(M'0 free!" si,<;'lis with earnest 
emotion, 
TIic Bch<i<)l-l)oy as out iroiu liis jiiihoii lie 
peers 
O'er the iiehls and tlie woods IVoni the hivezu 
all in motion, 
And in the wild vesture tliat Iil)ertv wi'ars. 

\yhe]i far fi-om Ins mistress, thus sjx'aks, too, 
the !ov(!r. 
While the star of tlic evening; sheds on luin 
its rav, 
"Oh! would that the days of my exile w(!re 
over. 
That with joy I. mii;-ht break fi-om my fetters 
uway." 

:\nd the waiid'rer tliat lias from his loved ones 
heeii j)ai'te(l. 
Between them lonii; y(.'ars and the li^i-eat heav- 
iu<r sea. 
Awakes at the dead of the ni^^'ht hi'oki^idiearted, 
And weei)s on his pillow, " Oh, would I were 
free!" 



80 OIE, WOULD I WERE F II K E ! 

Alas ! (ivciy crt'iituro fVoni iVdaiu descended, 
Of lowly estate or exalted dei^ree, 

As the [)ri('e to tlie boon of existence appended, 
l<\;c'ls tlu^ clas]) of some fetter from Avliich 
licM be free. 

Then patience, i2;ood brother! Time's waters are 
lu'aliiii:,', 
And c\'('ry iilllictioii that grieves ns can cure, 
IJiit 'tis just ^vlieii he })leascs, his gifts he'll be 
dealing, 
So let us be valiant and learn to endure. 

Hnvvise 'tis to wish Time's swift ])inions to 
hasten, 
For sooner, perha})s, than wv\] will it to be, 
Death, that [»unctual old turnkey, will come to 
imfasten 
The doors of our jirison, and set us all fre(\ 



LIFE. 81 



LIFE 



•FINIS CORONAT OPUS. 



As trun(|uil joy to hearts long hopeless, so 
A golden sunset ends a day of storms ; 

And gay the craft on polar seas sore tost, 
TThose sails at last a rosy siunmer warms. 

O happy life! in roughest pathways tried, 

Whose steps at eve through peaceful valleys 
glide. 

" Promise," above the cradle where he slept, 
Was writ in characters of glowing light ; 

Then happy, laughing childhood came, and then 
A youth of beauty crowned with all delight; 

And twenty blooming summers, joining hands. 

Led him at last to manhood's shining lands. 
4* 6 



82 



LI VK. 



()|| tirw V IIKiIIIhI IIH sIiUkIh U h(!I|;' ill llldl'll, 

Siiiill'; I III' li't't-ili m(>iiiil;iiii iiir ami ;j,laiict'H u n 
lli,^ lioiiiullcss riiii<;(' of liay.fl, S(t with cvo 

I >ilalri|, and all rai-iM- to rxplori" 
'I'lic I'liliirc's v'iiiiimrriii;;' vista, oiicc lie nlood, 
W'liilc liopc and I'ailli slirfcd in his Jii'dcnl jiiood. 

Tlicn lortli into llic world's widi^ li^-ts he sl('|t|ii'(|. 
With lil'c's i;rini Iocs to Italllr taci' to tacc, 

( h', dotlini;' casiinc and lancf, with a^ilc Icct 
To sli-n;';:di' with Ihr swll'lcst in llic V'M'\s \ 

'rill, )i.H on casv pinions of Ihf wind, 

lie h'.l th.- licld and h'fl all far luhind. 

T'orlnnc with ready hand Ik'I" treasures liea|>ed, 
And strewed them hroaileasl in his |>ath, an<l 
tanu\ 

Loud pieaus sin<',iiii;\ crowned his hrow with havs, 
And on a Ihiod of honor hore his nanu'; 

I'ill incense, tluui-; from ccMisei's sw iiit;'iuii,' wi(h% 

Seenied without pci't'iMuc to his sated pride. 



'riieii tor a linu> lie ^'rasped the t1\in>;" maiu> 
( M" ph>asui'c, vaulted on the I'ranlic sli'cd. 



1, 1 V K . 



88 



And skiimiuul tin; C(l;i,'('„s of licr di/./y li'iick; 
Till lovi; — the crownod (|uut)n — slnycd liis wild 

H|>('1!(|, 

And 1iinic<l liis coiii'Si'i' willi u <4fiitl(' linndj 
'Jo tlM! swfc.l- J)!isI,iij'(;h ol" licr llowrry laud. 

Ill siiiiiiy liist,r<! Vn'.H IIkj Ituinc dl" lovo, 
( /Diiijiihiiil luvf, 1,0 holy lliiiiic mJ^i), 
WIhtc j(»_y lui-(!V(*r on tint iJiiTsliold siiiilisH, 
y\iid |»(!!ici; and is\V(!«!l. <;oiitt'nliiii'iil dwoll 
wJlJiiii, 
And warm d(!li^'litH, bill, jtiirc- as siiinincr rain; 
VVlici'o j)as,sionM j'udo i'oi" onlraiicc knoc^k in 
vain. 

]I<rr(', wilJi IiIh otiicr hcH", and ullsprin;^ lair, 
All ^'allicriMl round liiiii in llial. rare n-trirat,, 

lie, had his <lr(!aiil — (or^'ciriil of (In- ytjurrt 
'rinil, (taiiK! and ;i,'lid('d l»y willi noist'lcss fo.oA. 

inorlal joy I thy I'ools all KJiailow lir ; 

When hlooniin;!,' falrcist, doinnrd alway lo (lib. 



As !i low wind iirsl, rij)|)I(!S o'(!r a, lake, 

'Jlii'ii, I'lpin;.^ on lln; nHiiinl.ain''s piny coinb, 



84 LIFE. 

Sweeps clown tlie rocky gorge, a roaring blast, 

And laslies tlie chafed waters to a foam ; 
So bnrsts at once in dark and stormy strife. 
Its first wild grief upon a joyful life. 

A babe was born, but with its first faint cry, 
O God! tlie mother passed from earth away; 

Tlien sudden night came down uj)on his soul, 
An icy darkness shutting out all day ; 

As if the living sun, struck dead in space, 

Had left but one pale star to fill its place. 

All listless lay the sullen sands of life 

As grain by grain they fell. A single day 

Had touched with death the very face of time ; 
"While seasons all unheeded lapsed away ; 

A pulseless pause hung round the rolling years, 

And brooded o'er a grief too deep for tears. 

So, soon or late, to ashes crumble all 

The shrines where men their dearest treasures 
trust ; 

We build on frailty and the fabric falls; 
"We grasp the apple but to find it dust. 



LIFE 85 

And does this poor, unprofitable strife 
To nothing lead? Is this the end of life? 

N"ot so ; it spins a thread beyond the grave, 
That links it fast to the eternal years ; 

Yet seems a short, imperfect fragment here. 
Till through the mists of death it reappears, 

And shows, at last, the great Creator's plan 

Of endless glory for his creature man. 

And he, of whom these lines make record brief, 
Long prostrate lay, nor strove again to rise: 

First on his spirit broke a feeble light, 
Then fell the holy glow of evening skies; 

And resignation, bringing j)eace and rest. 

Folded her wings and nestled in his breast. 

As helmsman bold the breakers who hath braved, 
Looketh not back upon the dangers j)ast, 

ISTor farther in where sleeps the sunny shore. 
But seaward points his steady prow at last; 

So gained the good old man the open sea, 

Whose waters mingled with eternity. 



86 THE DOG AND THE CROCODILE. 



THE DOG AND THE CEOCODILE. 

SPAlflSH FABLE. 

A KIND, considerate crocodile, 
Lay sunning in liis favorite Nile ; 
As by tlie margin of the river — 
To (juencli liis thirst, or cool liis liver — 
A cnr discreet, like master man. 
Lapped the sweet water as lie ran. 
The cayman — oily chap — cried out, 
"My friend, Avhat canst thou he about? 
Such haste shows plainly some delusion, 
Most hurtful to thy constitution." 
Dash still kept on, but spoke thus wise; 
" Thanks for your very kind advice ; 
But I've a silly sort of notion, 
I'd rather die of too much motion. 
Than suffer you to solve the question, 
If I be fit for your digestion." 



AN EVENING SKK TO II. 87 



AK EYEKING SKETCH. 

Oh! what a marvellous perfection, hath 
This siimnier eve put on ! with subtle i^lide 
It penetrates the soul, infusing there 
A sense supreme! of nature's peerless power. 
The cumhrous harness of life's dusty way, 
Falls at its touch; cares in oblivion sink, 
And the freed spirit seems on rushinii;; wiiii^s, 
Rising through regions of the beautiful. 
To catch some glimpses of its promised home. 
Low in the western sky, the sun hath sunk 
Behind a gorgeous pyi-amid of clouds. 
In purple robed, and edged with liquid gold; 
And while upon the sweet and quiet earth, 
That lies below, a softened shadow falls, 
Some glittering lights still touch the lofty spire, 
That mounts above the old cathedral's dome. 
Time-honored pile ! grey with the mould of years, 
In venerable grandeur rooted there, 



88 AN EVENING SKETCH. 

Like sonic hold l)o;i('(m roniicd by imturu's liand 
In cartli's yoim^ ^^'^y^j wlion tlie old liills were 

Lorn. 
Hark ! as from vasty lungs, a voice speaks 

out, 
Tn full, (l('('i) measured tones of earnestness. 
For on the air — that seems to ^'atlier in 
Fi'om far and neai", the myriad sounds of earth. 
And miniih' them in one low, dronini!; hum — 
SoliMnn and deej) the vesper bell sends forth 
Its sunnnons to the children of the vale. 
And soon, obedient to IIk^ holy call. 
They throui;- the way, now sini;ly, now in <j^roups. 
ITcre mothei's, smiliui;' with matci'iuil eyes, 
Jjcad by the hand their sinless little ones; 
An<l youths and maidens lull of careless life. 
And nu'U in i)rim(^ of days, with marks of care 
Upon their bi'ows, by turns come into view. 
Others with totterini>; step, that tells of age, 
With th(^ i)o()r cripple and the l)eggar join, 
And all press forward, on one purpose bent — 
To gain the gateway of the house of God. 
Nor faded yet the golden summer eve! 
A sweeter depth of beauty e'en she Avears. 



AN EVENING SKETCH. 89 

But nature hath no hold upon mo more. 

I ponder on that wondrous mystery 

Of beauty — prayer — that briglitening track of 

light, 
Up which the fervent soul may run — may i\y, 
And mount u])()ii the wings of love, to hold 
Communion witli tlie denizens of heaven. 

Lift up thy soul in grateful praises, () man! 
That in thy liearts' deep saiu;tuary, lies 
The source supernal of a heauty, far 
Transcending all that nature can bestow; 
For nature's but a ray of God's magnificence, 
But God, himself, comes to the soul in prayer. 



ROSALINDA. 



ROSALINDA. 

Kosalinda! I love thee iuid tlioii luvest ine, 
The spell it is broken — our hearts are now free ; 
Free as streams that through roek-shrouded 

darkness have run, 
To l)urst into sunli<>'ht and mino-le in one. 

Long the heai't-hi(hlen mystery lay unrevealed, 
And each from the other the secret concealed; 
For we kept it enshrined — without word, with- 
out K>ok — 
Between two silent luitures, as iu a sealed hook. 

With a root in each heart, yet together they 

di'ew, 
To hecome but one passion that secretly grew ; 
And in sunshine and darkness, with hopes and 

with fears, 
We have cherished the plant with the patience 

of years. 



ROSALINDA. 91 

Till at length in mute language it spoke from 

the eyes ; 
We have told it in words, we have breathed 

it in sighs ; 
We have rent the dull curtain that kept us apart, 
And our vows have been ratified, heart against 

heart. 

Rosalinda! I love thee and thou lovest me, 
But the wealth of our passion the world cannot 

see, 
For of all that's most prized what is hidden is 

best, 
If imveiled 'twould eclipse — 'twould o'ershadow 

the rest. 

Who hath fathomed the earth and its treasures 
all told? 

Or hath counted the gems its dark caverns 
enfold? 

Who hath weighed all the gold in the glitter- 
ing rills, 

Or that's swelling the veins of the rock-hearted 
hills? 



04 LOST AT SKA. 



L O S T A T S E A . 

Fak out ii|)(iii tlic (Irciiry Avasto 
Of occ'iui \Viik;i'b;, clurl< and decj), 

Where houndless space eiidtosoiiied lies, 
V>y Hilenee nursed to sleep: 

Lilted al)(>v(^ tli(>si> awrul depths, 

lliat diH-aui in iMidlcss nii;iit hclow, 

AVhcrc stillness ever rei<;'ns— where waves 
.llreak not, nor tenipi'sts hlow ; 

A solitary object s\vin<!;s 

Tpon the stntcly swelliui;' sea — 

A human creature, "wrestlinn; with 
A frightfid ilestiny. 

A shattered spar h(> clini2;s to, hut 

AVith i'eehle hold, that (h'owniui:; nuui ; 

Tlu> strong; stout heart no loni^tM- nerves 
Mis I'orin, grown weak and wan. 



LOR T A 'I' HK \. 95 

Tliricu hath he; kcu-ii Ihi^ kiiii coiiir! up, 
And Ihricu) Hiiik down iiilo lh(; Hoa, 

Ah st-fii^-ujliiii^', lil'c.''s tVail h(»l(| l-o keep, 
Wv. n(;iirhi vAcnnly. 

Fear's icy zone his soiil Iialh i)!iss(,'<l, 
Its tcri'ors MOW hriii;^' no diHiiiiiy ; 

I*v\;ii hope, tliat, for u Ki-ii^oii ('h('crc(l 
J I is licurt, hiilh ])!iss(u| awiiy. 

(jii'cat («od ! c:ui iJioii^hl, (;'(•!• comprchcinl 
Tho height :iiid (h'|ilh of sil<-h !i- woi;, 

When iho sjx'iil. Ih'sh aliiiowl hath ceased 
or Bulleriiig U) know 'i 

F(;(;hly h(! nils hJH dyiiiij,' (syes, 
As, IVoiii tJi(! c.ohl siiid <|uiei Hcu, 

Tlu; moon, ujtoii ni<^hl,'H [jearly shell, 
llises in inajesty. 

Why llirobs a^^ain lilt's (jbhin/:/; tide? 

Why fleams that wild li^'ht, in his (iye? 
On the hoi'izon's ^litterin^ line, 

A Bail looms in the sky. 



94: LOST AT S ?] A , 



LOST AT SEA. 

Fab out upon tlie dreary waste 
Of ocean waters, dark and deep, 

Where boundless space embosomed lies, 
By silence nursed to sleep : 

Lifted above those awful de|)ths. 
That dream in endless ntii,'ht below, 

"Where stillness ever rei<i;'iis — where waves 
Break not, nor tempests blow ; 

A solitary object swin<!;s 

CTpcm the stately swelling sea — 

A human creature, wrestling with 
A frightful destiny. 

A shattered spar he clings to, but 

"With feeble hold, that drowning man ; 

The strong stout lieart no longer nerves 
His form, grown weak and wan. 



L S T A T S K A . 95 

Thrioi' liatli lu' si-cii tlic sum <'<(iii(' up, 
Ami tlirieu nink down iulD tlio sea, 

As 8tnifj<;linji^, lit'r's tV:iil liolil to keep, 
He Hears rttTiiity. 

Fear's icy zomc his sdiil liatli passed, 
Its terrors now hrin^:; no dismay; 

E'en Ijope, tliiit lV)r a season elieereU 
His heart, liutli i)assed away. 

Great God! eaii thon-^ht e'er comprehend 
Tlie lu-ii^lit aii<l dejith of such a woe, 

When the spent tlesh almost hath ceased 
Gf suffering to know ? 

Feebly lie lifts hi.s dyinu; eyes, 
As, from the cold and (piiet sea, 

Tlie moon, upon night's pearly shell, 
Hises in majesty. 

AVhy throbs u;^ain life's ebbiiii^ tide? 

Why fi^leams that wild lii^lit in his eye? 
On the horizon's ^litterin^j^ line, 

A sail looms in the sky. 



96 LOSTATSEA. 

* Kearer she comes — and nearer still, 

Her masts — her very shrouds are seen 
In reercj will she yet ride o'er 
The space that lies between ? 

To wave a signal with his hand, 
lie gathers all his feeble force ; 

Alas! his only hope expires; 
She keeps npon her course. 

No Avatchful eye that si^'nal sees, 

No friendly hand is stretelied to save. 

Too nuu'h ! frail nature can no more, 
He sinks into the wave. 

And wailing winds his dirge shall sing, 
Nor sadder could the requiem be. 

O'er him who rests in dreamless sleep, 
Beneath the cold blue sea. 



DEATH. Q7 



DEATH. 



Cruel Death! relentless foe! 
Striking down with crushing blow, 
What our hearts cling closest to; 
The sharp — the agonizing pang, 

Thy shaft doth give, 

To those that live, 
Is keener, deeper, bitterer than 
The anguish of the dying man. 

Past are his pains, 

When through .his veins, 
With subtle speed is driven. 
Quick as th' electric flash of heaven, 
Tlie freezing poison of thy fang. 
He, thy malice now defies. 
He who still and pallid lies, 
5 7 



'^■*' 



98 DEATH. 

Like a iniirl)le effigy, upon his fiinertil biei' ; 
Turn, tnni iiwaj, 
From the cold clay, 
In l)lee(lin<i; hearts your ti-inniph lies, not here. 
JNo more upon that placid brow, 
With all thy torturing arts, wilt thou 
Excite a iVown. 
With his last moan. 
The mortal throe was o'er, 
Now he can feel 
Thy deadly steel 
]\o more. 
,■■ See, all the while, 

A hap})y smile 
Plays round his lips and seems to tell, 
His spirit light. 
Has winged its flight 
To heaven, with its God to dwell. 

II. 

Death! here's your prey — this mourning troop 
Of friends, this weeping band 
Of kindred, too, who stand 
Around the grave, a wretched group. 



DEATir. 99 

While on the hushed and silent air 
Breathe the low wailings of despair, 
Wrung from yon pale and wasted one, 
Whose tottering step and faded cheek. 
And sunken eye, too plainly speak 
The havoc thou hast done. 

Complete thy work, O Death \ 
Snatch away her feeble hreath, 
Let thy spell about her creep. 
Shroud her in thy icy sleep. 
She's thy captive now — art sure? 
Is she thine for evermore? 
Blind, indeed, O Death! thou art, 
To the bright immortal [)art ; 
All that's left thee for thy portion of the prize, 
Is the cold insensate (-lay. 
While her spirit's gone away. 
To the dwellings of the angels in the skies. 



o 



100 IINSKL KISIl LOV i<:. 



HNS K L K I S II LO YE. 

Fn Avoodv (li'll, wluM'o (liirk boiiijilis moot 

( >'cr watiM's iiiunmiriiii;^ at uiy loot, 

'Mid (l('|t<lis of iiiystio sluulo I lio, 

And must' oii liri'V sad injstory. 

Alas! wliy sliould n\\ lips disoloso 

Tlio siMTct ol" my bosom's woos'^ 

Why ON en liy a, look rovoal 

The passion lliat tbi- lior I loci? 

Somo chord within hor lu>art iiKiv lio, 

Already tmiod to sympathy, 

That only needs (he mastt'r \o\)0, 

To \vaki> the mnsie ol' its own. 

Bnt had not best that answering lay, 

Anotlu'i- toneh than mine ol)oy ? 

One in whosi* lovi> she'd haplv ito 

More blest than sharinjj; lite with me. 

Alas! I know no other dwidls 

On oarth, up from whoso bosom wells 



' UNS ML I'M S II LO V K. J 01 

For Iicr, ho wanii, but pure :i Hood 

Of deep, intense solicitudu ; 

And all of wealth heaven coidd bestow, 

All that of I'aiue niairs heart iiiia,lit know. 

All he jiii^'ht «i;leaii fi'ttiii earth, in Hiu^, 

I'd barter all to call her mine. 

But would 1 not, for wealth or laine 

That faiK'}'\s wildest dream could name, 

Beguiled by Hell", (toiist^ut to llirow 

One Bhadow on her cloudlesH brow. 

No ! rather let my secret rest 

Forever buritid in my bi'east, 

Unless sweet proofs my senses move, 

Tliat sho'd delight in my poor love. 



I (''^ l» I) W N n V S I I, K N 'I' W A 'I' K 11 S. 



DO W N II V S I I. M N 'r W A T K li S 

I)()\VN by sili'iit wjiftTH, 

Sli'clcliiiii;- Cur uwuy 
III llif mirttv «HstiiiuH\ 

Sill W'V OlUi HWCl't (luv. 

Near I lie <:;niHSV iii;ii\i;iti 
( >f tlioso NVnilTH Htill, 
III lli(i slmdow of iUv 

(>\ iMllJtll^'iU''- lull. 

Our swcci <Ihv ill Aiilmim, 

Silt \vi' tlurt" uloiii', 
llusliiul llu" linirl of iiaturr, 

lluslu'il !iH \vi'ri> our own. 



SiU'iicc till nrouiHJ us, 
Silont'o ill till' rtir, 

iSilrii('(> (>\>r tiu' wnliM'H — 
iSiKiu'o I'ViM'^u lioro. 



D'OWN MY Sll-KNT WATKIIS. lO.'J 

Till l.lic I'llll nicliaiiliiiciit 

( )ii (till* K|>ii'ilH It'll, 
Willi a <l('|»lli of mcMiiiii;^, 

Wordn ciiii never tell ; 

Till willi imilt! eiiiolioii, 

lliiiid ill li;iii(l wiiH laid — 
YoWH llie pm'esi, tniertt, 

SiK'iitly were, made; 

VoWH, nlltlivill^ HeilHoilH 

l^'ran^lil. witli joyn or IcarH, 
Slaiidiiii;' like pale t(iiiil)Kloii(!H 

()v<'r hiiried jeai'H — 

or a life llie reetird — 

All loo liri^lil: to last — 
Pointing to a shadow 

III the H|>(!e,l,ral paHt ; 

Yeai'H iliid, back have hroii^hl, iijo, 

Ah on iJiat, sweet, day, 
'J'o tlicHc hileiil, wal,(!rri 

Slrelehiii;^ I'ar away, 



10 1 l>()\VN II V SILK NT WATK US, 

]<'roiii (heir ;J,•|•,M^sv iii!ir;;in, 

TluM-t" i-('|i(>siiiu- still, 
III llic sIijkIow of the 



( )vi'rli!iii!'iii<'' hill. 



Silence nil iu\>iiih1 iiic. 
Silence in the :tir, 

Silet\ci' o'er the wiilci'S — 
Silenci> evtM'vwIiei'e. 



Shroud likt> while il \\rii|)s nic, 

l,ini;''rin:;' Ikm-c alone. 
Seems Ihe heart ol" natnri^ 

.Dead MS is luv own. 



]«'()It,T UN M'H K A V OKI T I'l . 



105 



F () ItT II N M'S K A V () \l I T M . 

■'11110 IIKAIt'J KNOWI'rill riH OWN linilOltNI'iKH.' 

IldVV |to()rly (lulli llir hIiiiIIuvv woild 
()iir lit'iirl.K' (|;i,ik ciiriTiilH h(:uii ! 

Mel liiiiki-i I Ik'.'ii; IIic, IJioiimIiI I^hh crow*! 
I'iXchiiiii, " ( )li, liii.|>|>y iiiiiM I 

" MCo'h riclicHl. prI/rH llioii IiiihI won, 

I'VidnlH, I'orl.iiiic, iiiid II, iiiiiiii', 
I'Or t,o iJir very (lrc;jH tlioirht, driiiiicd 

'I'lic, Imnicd cup oi" laiiic." 



All! <;oul<l iln'.y |»<'iii'lrM,tr IIiIh ItntiiHt, 
And niiirk llin /^looni IIiiiI/'h llicrc, 

EurtlTH liiindtlchi, hoii vvonld nol <t.\<;luulgo 
1 1 in lot, for one- ho drear. 
5* 



1 0() K li 'I' V N 1<; ' rt FA \ U 1 T K . 

All! Marv, llioii hast left iiir ln'r(\ 
With naught tliv phu-c to till, 

l'\»r tilt" siiiisliiiic dt" iiiv liti' uriit out. 
Wlii'M tliv warm piilsi' slooil still. 

l\riM\ lo()l< \y\\]\ ou\y at luv Iit\>, 

'V\\c lioiioi's that arc iiiiiu', 
ll('a\(Mi knows IM tVcclv i;ivi' tliriii all 

l'\>r oiu^ swi'i't smilo of thiiu'. 

Now tliroiii;li tlu' worM's ailiiiiriiii;- tiiroii« 

liitliircrtMit I movi' ; 
)Vliat is man's t'ct'liK" praiso to mv { 

\\c iiotiiin«;' It'll to love. 

'rii(> laiiri'I wri>atli ii|>on mv hrow 

A n idU' mockcrv sri'ins ; 
Tliv ti'tuli'riu->s was mori' to mo 

'I'lum i^Ku'v's wiKli'st tlrcaius. 



1 cannot call tlicc back to life; 

'I'hou'rt i^'oni' tor cvcriiu>ro; 
^'ct do 1 fed that wc shall meet 

When life's (hill season's o'er. 



•FORTUNE'S FAVORITE. 107 

And in etenuil bonds re-joined, 
When the hist tnini]) sliall Bonnd, 

Roaming throngh sunny paths of peace, 
Our Hpirits will ]je fonnd. 



Ids 



I,o N I! I N (J S. 



I , () IN (I I IN ( ; s . 

"I'ls !i tlowtM' (li\in(>Iv i'!ii'(«, 

'Nciitli tlio occMU (Icpllis i^f nil". 

AVluMT lilt" liro.'ul ciirtli s\vt'('j>s mwmv 
111 tlu> i;iiiiiiiuTiii<;' diiwii of iImv, 
Si^iii'i'liiiii;- still \u\ lootsli'jis slrnv. 

Kouiul iiu> slrt';inis llu> muiUit sun, 
( M'l MS in niv li;is((> I nm, 
r>ut niv l:isk is lu^vtM* doni^. 

Soni«>tinu>s \\\\cu \\'\{\\ ulilltM-inji" liii"Iit, 
Stars sliinc o\'r nic cuKl nnd l>riii'lit, 
SoiU'ch 1 lutj>oK>ss tlironi;li the Tiii;ht. 



Ami tlio morninii; vouui;' suul t'jur, 
IV'iwns M!:;;iin to liml nu> tli(M'i\ 
AVitli :i spirit i'nislu>tl with i';u\<. 



];()N(; I N (I H. 



109 



( 'liiiil) I I lien III*; cliils lliul. rinc, 
lidHl, ill I'oldri tli:i.l. \i'il \\iv. t^k\i'H, 
lJ()|»iii;^' l.luii'o 1,») HVA/A-, my |»ri/,(!. 

Wlici'c tlin vvMlc^fH clil) Mild flow 
()\'.[' iJicir pcMtly (|c|tlliH l>(l(»\v, 
I liiiV(^ (IrciiiiKid IIk; lluwcr iiii|.';lit fi^rovv ; 

And with i)(>W(!i- Mint luiKty ;^ii,V(!, 

l^'ul IioiikmI every oeeiiii eiiVe, 

\Ud it bloomed iiol 'lu^iilli llie wuvi;. 

Reu uiid liiiid, HiliiHliilK^ iiiid hIkuIc, 
Moll II I. 'till |)roiid :iiid lowly ;i,liide, 
J*'niil,l(!HH tse.'ii'eli tliroii;j,li :ill Tve iiiude, 

on rv(! H(-ii,iiiH!d f,li(! l»ru/eii Hky, 

P<)lid'rili<^ oil the iiiyHlery, 

1'ill my cyuH were Htniiiicd uiid t\vy. 



Hion to eiirlii I'vi! liinied u;^!ilii — 
I'Vilill'iil Hoil, wher(; ^i-ief ;i,iid piiiii 
Thrive; in tcurn iin j>liiiitH in min. 



110 



I, ON (i IN (IS, 



\a[\' is nearly s|i('nt and ^'one, 
AVc'iiry f;i'()\vs luy licart, and loiic, 
Shull I call the llowi'i- my own i 



No'cr on earth thai joy may bo, 
Only will it. bloom lor me, 
On thy shores, eternity I 



A WJNTKR KLK(JY. Ill 



A W 1 N T K K K L K(\ V. 

IMITATION VI' (JRAV. 

'^PirK wintry I>I;iHt liowls tliroiijj:;!! Ilic lui-csl. 'fi^r^'y, 
'V\\() l(',;itl(^srt hruiiclics riiiilc, on cjicli l,i"(',(i, 

I'lit! vvil.licrcd IcuvnH ill crddiciH whirl iiwiiy, 
And Htri(;k(!ii iiid,iii"(! iiKKlilulcs with iiic-. 

Now lulls ill IcHH(!iiiii«:; ^iikIk the, wind iiw;i_y, 
And houikIh in Htii^niuit bilcncu houiii tc 
freeze, 

Save where yon wild Ktrciiiii duslicH <»n its wiiy, 
Or whiHp'riii^ Hedges ciilcli the. <lyin;4' hrccv-c!. 

Suv(; that from yoiichu* vcnc.rahhr trcM), 
Tlio raven croaks h(!r iiiclanclioly Htrain, 

To sueli as h(;<!dl(!SH Kail o'er life's smooth k(!U, 
Nor dream that death is Hiuml)erin<^ on the 
main. 



112 A WINTER ELEGY. 

Beneatli these "aged oaks — these hoary boughs, 
Where daily now the white man toils for 
food, 

The smoky wigwam knew its simple joys. 
Or round its fires the Indian warriors stood. 

The thunder-smiting crash, nor falling pine, 
Nor roaring whirlwind, nor the battle yell, 

Nor arrow's whiz, nor strong bow's twanging 
line, 
Shall ever break their slumber's heavy spell. 

For them no more the martial fire shall burn, 
When some old chieftain tells his battles 
o'er, 

Nor dusky bride await her lord's return, 
Or fearful, dread lest he return no more. 

Oft through the thicket sped the fatal dart, 
The bounding deer oft felt the unerring 
stroke, 
How wild and free throbbed each unfettered 
heart 1 
How glad their shout the forest silence broke ! 



A WINTER ELEGY. 113 

Let not refinement criticise their ways, 
Their vengeful hate — their thirst for bloody 
fame, 
Kor cultured man withhold his meed of praise, 

For vengeance, then, and virtue, were the 
same. 



114 CONFIDENCE. 



COI^riDENCE 



IMITATION OF SIIENSTONE. 



Ye damsels, blithe, happy, and free! 

With hearts unacquainted with love ; 
Ye shepherds, who pipe o'er the lea ! 

Content with your lambkins to rove, 
In you I can never confide, 

Gay maidens and light-hearted swains. 
For I very well know you'll deride 

The sweet secret my bosom contains. 

But I'll hie me away to yon wood. 

In whose covert the low cooing dove, 
Undisturbed in her sweet solitude. 

Ever warbles her lament of love. 
And I'll mingle my sighs with the strain, 

In which her lost mate she bewails ; 
To the rocks and the trees I'll complain, 

For such confidants never tell tales. 



CONFIDENCE. 115 

When I peep in the streams as I pass, 

Alas ! what sad changes appear ; 
The lilies 'tis easy to trace, 

But the roses no longer are there. 
Now can I be blamed that I'm sad. 

That mj mirth and good humor are flown? 
Should I not be ashamed to seem glad, 

When my Lnbin — sweet shej^herd — is gone? 

When free with my Lubin to stray, 

And list the sweet truths he would own, 
The hours so quick flew away. 

They were past ere I thought them begun ; 
Since his voice I no longer may hear, 

I am lost in abstraction profound ; 
I sit by the hour unaware 

Of a thing that is passing around. 

They may tell me my Lubin's untrue, 

Nor cares his lost Delia to see, 
Tliat his heart he has promised to Sue, 

That was long ago given to me ; 
But such slanders I will not believe. 

Foul envy is all that they prove; 



110 



CON KI 1) KN (1 K. 



For mv LiiMii would ih'\-oi' dociMvo 
Tlio lass'u' I hill oiico ti\o(| his Iono. 



Then listiMi, Ihoii sort-scriilfd i.';!do! 

Nor hasloii iiid\iiidlv :i\\:iv, 
Till ihoii hcnr'st iVom mv li|»M m lni(> I; 

'To 1h> li(>nu> lo mv l.ul>iii lliis d;iv : 
()li, Icll him iit» iillu'i' llinii he, 

( *:m lil'l iVom m_v bosom ils pniii ! 
( )|i, li'll him lo coiut" hiick lo mo, 

And I shnll ho hnpi'v M^aiii ! 



M A lid A I!, KT. 



117 



M A Ii(; A \l KT. 

T HAD !i, (IrcMiri, !i |)l(';iS!ili(, (Irciiiii, l;isl, iii/j;!!!, 
And iiiiii-li 1 iiiiirvfl lliul, h<» vividly, 

IJy iii(!iiii)i-y'rt iiiilriiMiiH-d li;j'lil, 
Sliuiild i^\n\v llic 'ww.v/r. (>{' iui old d<'li;i,lil, 
And (-onii; witli ,sncli ;i, (i'(tHluieHri hiick lo nic. 

'J'lic, villji|;() vvli(!r(! my hoylKxtd /glided Ity, 
I Hiiw i"(!]H)Hin;^', us ill diiyrt ol" yore, 
l)CiH-;i,lli nil cvcnin;^' sky ; 
And li!<(; !i li>\v iiiid |)l:iiiiliv(! melody, 
'rii(! (jiiicii j)i(;liir(! t,oiiclic(| my soul once, niord. 



1'licii joy hI.oN; o'<;r nn-, like n llioii^lit ol' lov(!, 
rii(i oiitliiu; ol' llie \>:i\r, wc.w moon to hcm;, 

I'oised ill iJii! vuilll, Jilj<*V(r, 
Ah iloiils ii rcHllicr IVom u Hiiow-wliile, dove, 
For tliiiH kIuj HJiid, "'J'Jiv wiish biiall aiiHwcrcd 
be." 



118 



M AlUi A RKT. 



The Avisli, iinurtiM'i'd, only li\e;l in tlioii^-Iit, 
Ami yvi a ])leiisiii<;- chaii^x' v{\\\w o\m- the scene, 

Moj^t ui!vrvellt»usly \\i'uu;j,iit — 
A fiiii'-liiiired *;irl eU»se ti) my sulu seemed 

Itrou^lit, 
And wandered Nvitli me o'ei' tlu' N illa^'e ^Teen. 

Fi'oni lier sealed lips no soft confession fell, 
Ko Aoi'd of lovi! I yet had dared to lu^'atlie 

Why 'twas I could not tell, 
]>nt IuisIuhI our siini>le hearts seemed hy a 

spell, 
Thoui-'h l)ealin<2' sm-h a sweet tattoo tt)<:'ether. 

] never ha\t' forgotten I\[Hrgaret, 

She was the i;enlh'st thim;,- I ever hnew, 

So si'rious, ami yet 
Swoot mirth sometimes came like a spai'klinu' 

jot, 
From out her eves of hrinht, but earnest Idue. 



Without a clond her morn o{' lit'e hail Iuhmi, 
And to my own its sunny lii;'ht imparted, 



MAROARKT. Ill) 

Our future all unseen — 
So woven into one our hearts seemed tlien,. 
Wc never dreamed that we could e'er he parted, 

Alas! that those first golden blooms of love — 
Those promises of youth so trut; and tender — 

Shonld perishable prove, 
Or only live in dreams, the heart to move ; 
Scant tribute to those dear old times to render. 

Swift years, ah, whither fiown ! I know not now 
Tlie country e'en where Margaret is dwelling; 

Mayhap her foi-m lies low 
Beneatli the tui-f where the wild daisies grow. 
Some time-worn stone her simple story telling. 

Peace to thee, Margaret; peace, where'er thou 

art, 
In earthly home, or heaven, hence summoned 

early ; 

Yet ere fi-om thee I i)art, 
I'll breathe once more, peace to the gentle 

heart 
Of lier, whom, long ago, I loved so dearly. 



120 MAIUJARKT. 

My dreiuu is o'er; nay, is't iu>t one U>ii<;- dreauj. 
This life of mine? pliantasniaf»;oriii, all 

Its lii;'1its and darks must i^leam, 
Until i'ti'i'uity''s l)rii;lit moniini:; l)oaMi 
To dcatlilrss lilt' my slumbering soul shall call. 



THE BRIDAL MORN. 121 



THE BRIDAL MORN. 

Upon a grassy slope that scarce had given 
All its fresli moisture to the morning sun, 
But still some sparkling drops contrived to 

.screen 
From the warm wooings of his amorous beams, 
A youth, whose fair mifurrowed brow pro- 
claimed 
A fresh young soid, free from all taint of care, 
Among a joyous group consj)icuous stood. 
Flis clear bright eye, from which, at other times, 
A glorious energy oft shone, with look 
Of fond and earnest tenderness, now gazed 
Upon another and a fairer form — 
One that with fluttering heart, in dubious maze 
Of mingled joy and fear, stood half unnerved, 
Yet happy by his side. Yes, happy both ! 
And in the changing scenes of after years, 
6 



.122 



T II K It i; I I' A I, M (t U N 



W'liiilc'iT lirlidc, lliis (if nil uMicrs will 
Iu'Iih'IiiIm'it(1 lie. I'or 'Iwmh llic liridal tliiy 
( M" lliin voiiii".-; \m\v im Indian h^nnnncr morn, 
'rinil veiled ilM'll' in Ini/c ol" dremnv l»lnc, 
SI(M-|iin_ii' HO Htill\, llml llii- rn.stlin^s ol" 
'riic droi>|'ini!,' IriiNt'M, like \\liis|n'rs j-sccnu-d into 
'rin> r:ii' lo ;didf. NN'liilc idl nnconscions of 
Tlu' H('('n(\ or \ii'\\tn;'', in its nurrorini;' t'ncc, 
lu'tl'-xcM onl\ o\' llicir own li;dit lirarts, 
'V\\'\t* incrrv troop saw not tlu' shadow cast. 
r.\ niclanrliols |1hm(> lliat s|n'rtn> dim, 
riiat lollows natni'o wliiTcsot-'or sli(> dwells, 
Sadd'nin;;' Imm' <'\ nw smile Init in a mood 
( )t' jollit V, rhattin;;' in nndor tono 
( )|' wliispcn-d mirth, oi' halt' clicrki'd pivolv, 
l\)\vin'd th(> chaiu'l hiMit llioir li<;'Iilsonn' steps. 
,\t\d to the i>ortal as thev neaiHT diH'W, 
That dind\ hronjvht to \ iew the sacred ai^It\ 
The lillh> hii'ds up in the (>ld oak trees 
INnn'od forth a weleonu- in a stream ot' svMii;' ; 
While hreathiniv from llu> sanelnarv, eanie 
Issninn' forth, the tVa;.\ranee ol' t'resh tlowers, 
Thai pious hands had on the altar plaeeil. 
And now t'rom von (ild lot'lv ".'I'anite pile, 



T 111'; II It I l» A I, M (» U .V . 129 



Till' mrn-\', iiicrrv wcddiii"' bclln hit riinnii'"- 
Ami U, ;-;ii_v mill lively |.|i;iiiliisv iwrtw Hill-';il|n', 
Ah if a H|)irit iVuin llic i-.-mIiiis of ju\ ninl li-jil, 
lliiiiiiiii liniilM Inul (•..me ((. ri(\ ii.li w illi (Idi.. |,(. 
( )r nillirr ;,(«i'lili'i| i| niils |(( iiii|iii|-| 
rill' Ijiillil'iil I'clio (»r iIk^ JMiilcj-^rnonrM ji.)oiiM 
I rl. 

Kill !l. voice- lUM'lilH \Vllilill;L,' iVolii llic ilrjiljii ul 

I iliK', 
Allil il iiilii;';lr;,, oil I liow Mitilly, willi lliiil rliimo, 
Srulliii'dil rrii;;iiiriilK of u wild ).n>).lMl ic iliymo. 

ll!l|»|>_V, li!i|>lM, liii|.|.v yoillli ! 
SiTilii'' willi I lie ('vr of Irillli, 
Ami |)|-or|i|i|||i||;r ;,|| lliiii,,,, Ciii.^ 

')'li;il, (lio lovi'ly nirlli (lulli wi'iir, 
Willi )i, n|.iril |>iin'. imkI I'm', 
Koxiii;:; lifr'n i'c;ili|\'^ 
TiiiH' no rriTorH liiilli lor IIht. 
Voidi'. 
'riidri'Vi jo)' ill lliy ,iiiii|,., iumI (|)(.|'c'h li;d)l, in 

lliiim eye, 
'riini wliy Hl.ni-r..|rH lij. Iroiii Ihy hoHoiil iJiiil. 



124 THE BRIDAL MORN, 

Why trembles tliy hand, and why blanches thy 

cheek ? 
Happy heart ! in those whispers does j,oy seem 
to speak ? 

Chime. 
As to-day thou know'st no sorrow, 
So 'twill likewise be to-morrow, 
So with each succeeding sun, 
Till life's pleasant course be run. 
Voice. 
Kow from the fair east, like a warrior bold, 
The sun rideth forth in his armor of gold, 
But ere to their rest the winged songsters shall 

hie. 
More shadows than one shall pass over the sky. 
CJmne. 
Passing all things fair is she, 
"Whose heart, fond youth, is pledged to thee; 
Aye ! lovely as in snowy white, 
The daisies on a mountain height. 
Yoice. 
A violet to place in the hair of the bride. 
Fresh plucked from the bed of green turf at 
her side, 



THE BRIDAL MORN. 125 

'Tis bright as tlie tints of the morning to-day, 

To-morrow 'twill droop, soon to perish away. 
Chime. 
Life's a gently flowing stream, 
Life's a sweet untronbled dream, 
Life's a string of snnny hours. 
Bright as dew-drops on the flowers, 
Life is gold withont alloy, 
Full of hope, and love, and joy. 
Yoice. 

Hear ye not the waters moan 

In a low and wailing tone. 

Ever murmuring on the air, 

Joy is sister-twin to care? 

Doth not every thing betray 

Lights all crossed with shadows grey — 

Brightest blossoms everywhere, 

Saddened by the blights they bear? 

And shall human hearts go free, 

When naught that springs from earth can flee 

The universal destiny? 

Chime. 
In the spring time when sweet May 
Strewed the fields with flow'rets gay, 



126 THE BRIDAL MORN. 

Up and down on airy wing, 
Two gay birds went wandering; 
And first a wreatliy fliglit they weave, 
As loath their wikl retreat to leave, 
But soon a holder flight they take, 
And skim along the quiet lake, 
Or upward spring on high to soar, 
Till hack to earth they dip once more, 
Again to poise — to dart — to glide, 
Forever by each other's side. 
Oh ! in how Avild a wantoning 
They pass the merry days of spring! 
Youth and maiden, plighted pair, 
These two birds your shadows are, 
In their May-day flight ye see 
Your own unclouded destiny. 
Voice. 
Hark! the winds of winter sigh, 
Listen ! oh, how mournfully ! 
As o'er blighted fields they stray, 
Murmuring, summer's passed away — 
Summer witli its sun and showers, 
Grass and dew-drops, birds and flowers — 
Offspring of the fleeting hours ; 



THE BRIDAL MORN. 12'i 

All are gone ; and hovering there, 

Like sickly phantoms in the air, 

Shadows now all grey and cold, 

As in a shroud the earth enfold. 

And whence tliat low and plaintive cry — 

That one sad note of agony? 

On yonder stript and withered bough, 

Alas ! the lonely mourner now — 

The minstrel whose wild notes of spring, 

No more tln'ouii'h woodland haunts shall ring:. 

To fly the s})ot attempts in vain 

And to his perch returns again ; 

To linger there disconsolate 

Where last he saw his dying mate. 

Alas ! full soon all hearts shall know 

That joy must el>b as well as flow, 

For never yet was nursed a bliss 

That bore not fruits of bitterness. 



The l)ir(ls have ceased their caroling. 
The bride has worn the wedding ring, 
The nuptial blessing has been given, 
And reiristerecl the rite in heaven. 



I tiS 



T II I'] i; i{ I It A I, MO i;, N. 



N(»\v utiiv llicc, TiiiH'! \\\\y liutlicr niii, 
WIicii joy's bri^lit ^(laJ tliis dny i.s won '^ 
< )r if lli_> ('(iiii'sc iiiiih;! (Uiw.'ird he, 
Wlij (lr;i|;' llicsc liii|»i>_y licnrls willi llico? 
* x- x- * x- -x- * 

Aliis! it WJis MM idle |ir:ij('f, 
Tliiii (\i\\ liiis down so l)rii;lii mihI liiir ; 
And in!iii\' more llml sped !is fast, 
(ioiic down lo sliindxT in llic [last. 



To M ISS K . M. 



129 



'1' < ) MISS K . M . 

ON IIMIC, VVr:iiltlN(J DAV. 

A itKKjini'iR iiioni, ( ) iniiiilcii ! 

Now (III lliy |);||||\\ ;iy liCHIHS, 

I'Ikiii (iscr slifd ils j'oy on lluui, 
III liiiicy'H uildcsl, (Irciuiis. 

TIk! {•:U'tli li:iH ;;fo\vii iiioiui l)c;i,iiliriil, 
A IciJiiiIcr :iir it, hrc.'il lies, 

Ah roiiiiij lliy lic;i,r|, ;i, cliuplcl, |)rin|,(, 
or Slllilij' li(.|ic:-i r;|ic, \viT;i,l lies. 



Oil, ever jovriil tlcsllny 

or lliosc vvlio wed wllli lovo— 
A sIkmIow of I Ik: iicrfccl, sLiilo 

or soiiJH l.liai <l\v(!ll iiJiovc I 
(JIud MdiiiM'H, Mviiil,. iiiidd,.,, I 

'I'liiH l)lisKriil iiioniiiiM' |,|-iii«.';H, 
i'Voiii tnin ;i,ircct,ioirri dro|)|.iiiH' dcvv, 

All ciidlitsri vcrdiiro sjii'iiigri. 
(>=<• 9 



130 TO MISS K. M. 

Then sweetly glide thy liours, and wlicn 

Long years have passed away, 
May every memory be bright, 

That's linked with this bright day. 
Perchance, you too, may sometimes cast 

A thought of kindly hue. 
On him who from his exile pens 

Tliese sim2)le lines to yon. 



CAST DOWN. 131 



CAST DOWJS". 

Cold, listless, dull! what o'er my soul hath 

come, 
That day by day, emotionless and dumb. 
Chained to tlie earth, a heljjless weight I lie? 
Why, living still, a very stone am I? 

I hear — I feel — the same broad earth I see. 
Myself, a parcel of the mystery ! 
All still remains to point the soul to God, 
And yet my heart is dead, and I a clod. 

He only who gave nature life and law, 
And out of nothing deigned my soul to draw, 
With vital flame can bid this rush-liglit burn, 
His hand withdrawn — to notliing I return. 

He, then, the King, o'er seas that hath com- 
mand, 
Who holds them in the hollow of his hand, 



132 CAST DOWN. 

"Who lets the tempest loose, or bj whose Avill 
The angiy waters and the waves are still ; 

He 'tis, whose rule the gathering ages own, 
Who man's proud nature brings in mercy down, 
That from his deep abasement he may see, 
Abandoned thus, how poor a wretch is he. 

"Re-light in me, my God ! thy fire divine. 
Construct anew this prostrate wreck of thine ! 
One look of love shall all-sufficient be, 
To lift it up from earth to heaven and Thee. 



YELLOW FEVER. 133 



YELLOW FEYER. 

The fever fiend ! the fever fiend ! lie comes, 
make haste to fly; 

Fly all who can, nor stay to swell the low de- 
spairing cry 

Of yon poor crouching multitude, whose time 
has come to die. 

With noiseless tread he stalks among his unre- 
sisting foe, 

Livisible his murd'rous blade, but sure the fatal 
blow, 

As right and left, with steady hand, he strikes 
his victims low. 

Wliat frightful thing is this that can the strong 
man thus restrain. 

Can make him like an infant, weak, can fill his 
bones with pain. 

His blood can clog with poison, and with mad- 
ness fire his brain? 



184 YKM.OW KKVKll. 

Ill" cttiiu'lli now wliriu'i' coinclli lir ^ iio living 

man can tell — 
Wi> know liini (Hilv 1)V the slain abonl oni' 

lu'arllis thai fell, 
J>y tlu" niniltlini;' of tlir (lisnnil lu'arsc, tlir loll- 

ini;' of lln- licll. 

All wcalluTS arc alike (u him, Jic tJConiH the 

lt'm|H\st's I'aii'c, 
AN'itli (lanntlcss Iron! lu' ^\aiks al)i\)ail, ;i (Icadlicr 

war l(» wai;'i\ 
A (lark (lav's work llial nii;ht lie vvrik's iij>on 

his bloodv |':ii;'i'. 

Oil ! oiu» woiiM lliink, so swccM a. luvczo as 

this from oil" the sea, 
"With not a'elond.lo mai" the a/.nre eontinuitv, 
.Mii;'hl i;ain one dav of i;-rae(.> at least — alas I no 

_t;raee i;rants lie. 

A seore o{' snnnv davs are linkinl by nio'hts, 

oh ! how sereni\ 
A\'ilh skies ol' slrani;(> ti-ansjKireney where not 

11 eloud is siH'ii, 



YKM;()W IM'lVMIt. 



186 



l)iil, li('r(t('r HTowrt (Jui hIuii^IiIci- mow iJiuii (svui* 
it. Iiiid Ikh'h. 



No (l:i.y, IK) iii^'lil, iio Mine of sfonii, no (-.•iliii, 

no HUM, no .sliowcr, 
Can Htiiy \\\r. I:i(:il |>('.s|,ilcii(Hi, nor IciMJd wilJi 

ilH |to\V(!r, 
Until l\\r. Lord (,r hosls vcUml, iind nnirk i(,H 

iinul lionr. • 



136 HOPE AND DESPAIR. 



HOPE AND DESPAIR. 

Hope. 
MoKTAi.H, come along with me, 
Wo M'ill roam •futurity. 
All is happy, all is free, 
Tu the l)i'i*>;ht futurity. 
Sons of earth, rejoice, rejoice ! 
Hear ye not no})e^s cheering voice? 
Mortals mortals, will ye come? 
Hope invitee you to her home. 
Hark ! I touch the trembling string, 
llich celestial raptures sing. 
The unborn hour alone can brin^:. 
Ye shall loiter in my bowers. 
Shall eat my fruits, shall pluck my flowers, 
Shall drink the nectar of my rill, 
While odors soft your senses till. 
No glossy berries tempting glare, 
To till your veins with poison there; 



JIOPE AND DKSl'Alll. 137 

No hidden bee with sudden stiii;;^, 
One iiioiin'iitiuy puiii;' ish;dl bring ; 
There no unwliolesonie inuiseouf; drop, 
Witli bitterneris sludl (hisli your enp, 
For ill my brii^ht enchanted isle, 
(jrrief shall ^-I'ow glad and sorrow smile. 
Look at the stars in yonder sky, 
They shine not half so bi'ig'ht as I ; 
Yon ruined tower, yon aged tree, 
The moon is veiling mellowly, 
With molten silver lands('a})e laves, 
And glitters on the dancing waves. 
But mortals, mortals, turn to me, 
Far brighter is futurity. 

Despair. 

Out ! out ! wanton sprite, thou could'st never 

yet dare 
To face the dark lowering scow! of Despair. 
Tliy promises vanish like mists from the air, 
And man finds a haven at last in D('si)air. 
Loud, solemn, and deep tolls yon old cha])el 

bell, 
It is ringing thy requiem — Hope, fare tliee well ! 



138 IIOPK AND DESPAIR. 

Come along, conic along with nic, cliildren ol' 

clay, 
Your life's like a shadow that passetli away; ' 
Yon sun as lie rose seemed to smile on your 

birtli, 
But ye mingle at e'en with the dust of the 

earth. 
O mortal, O mortal, come wander w-ith me, 
Along the wikl shore of the dark rolling sea, 
And hear from the depths of my grim rocky 

',ave, 
The dash of the [)rcakcr, the roar of the wave. 
When clouds iii black volumes roll over the sky. 
And the storm in its fury sweeps fearfully by. 
Unmoved thou slialt smile at the terrors of 

night, 
And brood o'er thy woes with a savage delight. 
When the thunder-clap bursts, and the red 

lightnings gleam. 
Thou shalt mingle thy shrieks with the sea- 
bird's wild scream. 
And thy laugh, like a demon's, shall ring 

through the air, 
Oh ! fierce is the triumph tluit waits on Despair. 



11 P K AND DK S 1' A 1 U . 13'J 

Ubscrvo yuudor phmot — ilio (iiiccii <»(' the oven, 
IIow proudly bIhj wullcs Uiroiii^h tin; diirk vault 

of licavi'u, 
See! s(3e ! she is ucariu^ llic line <»t' you hciijjlit, 
And now sliu siulcB down on tUo bosom of 

niiijlit. 
<) in;iii ! in tJial. star thy d'lrk dc.stiiiics i;-h)ar, 
lAko \n'.\' a hi'icl" nionicut your si»iril- may soar, 
Like her, loo, a frow niiiii; horizon you'll n(>ar, 
And seek for j'o[)ose on llu; uii;"lii of l)cs|>air. 

Hope. 

Gentle spirit, einne away, 
(V>nie into the dawning day. 
Darkness all around thee lies, 
Dec^peniui^ Jor the sac^rifice. 
liuin wails to slab thee there, 
On the allar of Despair. 
One more vietim still to ^ain 
For the realms of endless pain. 
Qome, freed spirit, come away, 
Come into the dawning day. 
Erst to lure tluu' and to save, 
Dreams of earthly bliss I gave, 



140 nOPK AND DE STAIR. 

Now to cjirtli no loii«^c'i' cliiii::, 

Earth is but a liollow thing. 

All the joy, and all the woe 

It can give, like shadows go; 

Ihit thou slialt, when they're all gone, 

Lean on uu', poor h)nt'ly one; 

Gently will I soothe thy })ain, 

And thy sti-ength rtMiew again, 

Train thy wings to. soar with nie 

To tlu' land I promised thee ; 

Far away beyond the skies, • 

In an endless spring it lies. 

Spirit, come then, come with nie, 

Kest thuu in eternity. 



Al<'Tiill AN iLLNESS. 141 



AFTER AN ILLNESS. 

How quiet uiy eye, and how pule my cheek, 
My breathiii<jj how h)w, ami my pulse liow 

weak, 
I strut;;i!;le to lift u[) my head, hut in vain, 
It feebly sinks back on its pillow again. 

But the tire is quenched that but yesterday 
Was drying the streams of my life away, 
And like the cool wave as it kisses the shore, 
The fresh tide of liealth is returning once more. 

From the wild dreams of plirensy my s[)irit 

awakes, 
And on me the morn of sweet consciousness 

breaks, 
To the music of eartli once again I'm alive, 
And my heart overflows as my senses revive. 



142 A F 'I' I'l 11 \N I L li N K S S . 

M.y IV'u'iuls ;iri^ ul»i>ut. mo, liow (Hiii't [\\v\v [vvmI 
Ab tlio}' HoClly isli'iil u[) to till' sido of my brd, 
To take my thin luuul in their own to bo 

pressed, 
And with words of ciu-oiini^-ouuMit o-luddi'ii my 

bivasl. 

Oomc pillow mo up in my easy cbaii-, 
And \cl WW bo jtlaood wlioro tlu> puro iVosli air 
C)t" iieavon, may play o'or my fovori'd skin, 
Aii(l woo tho r(>d sti'oams tVom tlioir loiintaiu 
Nv it bill. 

Hrij;bt, boautitul world ! (Mico ai^aiii I bobold 

Tiiy ^birioiis day sky of a/.ui\' and i!,-old. 

Thy mountains, thy lr<>os, thy <;'ay stroams, thy 

*;roon sod, 
All proacbini;- alik(> of tho ^lory of (5od. 

Wliy dost thou, my s(Md, at life's ills so ropino, 
And t\>r<;-ot all tho Nvoi\dort'iil pfts thai are 

thiii(>^ 
lie mindful that (Jod in his wisdom employs 
AtUietions as showi>rs to freshen our joys. 



MKMOIt, V Oi<' Cll JLl.) HOOD. 143 



ME M () li Y () F C II I L 1) II () () D 



CoMio, MciiKtry ! iiiistrcKH mh ilioii ;u'l, 

Dl" HWccK'sJ cJiordH to iii()V(! my lirnct, 

Who caiisi l)('i;iiil(i ciicli \v:i_y \v;ir<l iiioftd, 

'J'liiit; ^I'icvrs my own loved solitiMh^, 

(yoinc, let 111(1 ii('st!(! close; to llici", 

My KwccI ('omj)uiiioii, Mciiioi-y ; 

And lie cntriinccd (Vom lioiir 1o lioiir, 

"Witliiii tliy world-cxcliidin^- Ixiwcr. 

Aliiddiii-lilcc lliy l:uii|) supplies 

What most my soul lintli Iciinicd lo [)rizc, 

Its ])i('rciiiH', pellet r;iliiii;- rny 

illiiiiics lire''s dim iuid I'lided Wiiy, 

And t liroii/i,li IIk; sliiidouy \t:\7A'. ol" yciirH, 

The Ioii;^'-rorj^ollcn |);ist, iippejil'H — 

The J'iist, Imp |)leiisii,iiter to mc 

Thuii (hirls, unknown I''iitiirll y, 

"Wlicirt! liop<; iiiid (e,!i,r idt(!niut,(; j'itjo, 

To rule, her cvcr-ciiun^iiig Hkies. 



144 M M M () U V () F (1 II I [; I) II I). 



SwitI mistress of the lonely lioiir, 
15y lIuH' detained with dreaiuj lore 
( )[' other (hiys, 1 seem :ii;'aiii 
Traiisporled to mv native i;len ; 
Ai;'ain 1 iVisk lhi'oni;'h forests wild. 
Where oiiee 1 roved a iia|>li_v child, 
|jii;'hl, eareh'ss, ll^ay, and ever iVe(^ 
As th(> inconstant honi'v hee, 
That waiMTrin;;' on iVom lhi\v(>r to flower, 
I,ii;hls on a hnnih'ed in an honr. 
Thus (hies wihl vonth its sports |>nrsuo, 
And e\'er llies to what is new ; 
IMcasni'es ar(> only won to cloy, 
( )r dro|)|ied to seize some hrii;'hler ji»y. 
W'ilh thee, sweet Memory, lor my :;'nid(>, 
Thiis hack to I'airy land 1 i!,lide, 
Wliei'e I was Wont from meadows _i;"ay, 
To cull the brightest llowers of May, 
( )r o\'er hill and \ alle\ hie, 
'l\» catch the hriii.-ht-wini^ed l)ulfei-(lv. 
r>ut it', while iiinocenc(> and ti'nth 
Sniilcd on my hi'ii^ht and hap|>\ \outli, 
Somt> |>i,i;"my i;i'ief chanced to pm-suo — 
l'\>r childhood has its sorr(>ws too — 



M KM () II V O I'' Oil I I, !> II ()() I), 



I ir. 



IM sir wn'. down iiiid weep llic. vvlillf, 
liiii Soon wonM conic ;i cluMrry nniilc, 
'^I'lmt i|uickl_y cliiiscd my Iciu-K mavjij, 
And I once more, wan MilJic. and ^ay. 

TliiiH ^^iihIh'H IV('(! my IicmcI, in pmiHu, 
When I rcrvicw lliosc- dciar ol(| diiys, 
Wlu;n virt.in; witli licr mild control, 
(iiiidcd ;u'i;^lil, my nnlan^lit, KonI, 
K(!|»l, IVom my |talli all ;.';nili or ca,rc, 
'I'liat, al'lcr many a Hlorniy year, 
1 y(!l, mii^lit, lind, al Icasl. in tlico, 
On<! bIani(il(!HH joy, dear Memory I 

7 10 



140 TllK D YIN Li (MUL. 



'IMl 10 1) V 1 N (i (J I It L T () II E li 
LO V K \l. 

A SONG. 

Too late, :i1i ! (Icai-cst one, too liito, 

Tlio)i comcst to tliiiic own !i|;'!iin ; 
Alas ! to (lie is \\\\ Siul late, 

AVIiv, wliv must l»liss thus cud in [taiii'i? 
"^I'licN' parted us — all ! doom too sure 

'l\t leave me thus in ^I'iel' to pine! 
Thy loudness now can ne'er restore 

This i)ale and wasted I'oi-m of niiuc. 

IJid Ix'ttcr thus, at. lit'e's last hour. 

To know that thou dost 1(>V(^ uic still, 
Than liiii^'cr ou, •i\ laded llowiM', 

Touched 1)V a Idi^ht that could not kill. 
l''ast fade those leaturt-s dear of thine, 

No more I mai'k tliv anxious eye, 
'i'hen pri'ss l\\\ waiiu sweet lips to Ulino, 

And let me thus in rapture die. 



MORNING. 147 



M O It N I N G . 

'Tis day, 'tis day, for liark ! I liear 

Tlu; joyous voice of chanticleer; 

lie tosses lii;i;li his coral crest, 

He ilajiB liis wings, ho ruffs his lo-east, 

And i^roudly seems the wiiiU; to say, 

As loud lie winds liis clarion gay, 

"I'm the glad herald of the day." 

The first faint gleam of grey now flies 
In silver streaks athwart the skies, 
Night's sable veil asunder tears, 
When lo! yon eastern height appears, 
With wel> of light about it spread 
And stars thick clustering round its head. 
But these, like pearls on field of jet 
That grace a queenly coronet, 
At every instant grow less bright. 
And one by one dissolve in light. 
At whose soft toucii night's paling woof 
Shrinks from the heavens' o'crai-chhig roof. 



IKS 



MO li N I N(l 



And o'ci' Villi liills, whose Imscs lii^ 

111 lonulcss, dim iiiicerluiiity, 

I'.iil risiiiL:,' iViuu tlic sluulowy Mi<;'1it, 

'riii'ii- oiilliiif lies in ^liiiiiiicriii'^' li^'lit, 

Loii^' \v:i\ V clouds iirc scrii to lliiro 

Like |H'iiii!iiils si ri'iiiiiiiii;' lo llic jiir. 

'riir()iifj,li ('\ii'_v lull' llu'ir color Hies, 

As wlu'ii llic cliaiii^iiijj,' dolpliiii dit-s | 

A rosy hliisli ;iii iiislaiit sctMi — 

All oriiiim' i;io\vs wlicrc it- li:id been, 

And yellow nicllini;' into ^Ti'di. 

And as we mark cacli llyiiij;' liuo, 

That tcihlcr, mild, delicious l»lu(\ 

"^riial iUily when the skies are clear 

Mn\ tiii;j,'e the mellow at iiios|iIiere, 

A|>|>ears, ahsorhiiii;' all the ri'sl. 

And smiliii!.'; s|>rea(ls from east to west. 

A t;'oldeii <.;,lory far and near, 

Now tires the orient hemisiihere, 

A hroader, hrii;liter circle throws, 

Ihitil from pole to pole i|, <;'1(»WB, 

And l>hi/..in;;- Tluehiis, upward whirled, 

Siu'ds lustre o'er a wakiiii;- wcu'ld. 

Hut turn from riuehus and the skies, 



M O 11 N 1 N (i 



IP.) 



Now l)i'iiuli(!rt ill till'- l:iii<lscii|)(i rise. 
l'|>(»ii llir \V()(»(!-si>riiiii;' /cpliyr-l idc, 
Tliti mists ciirccr the iiioiiiiliiiii sidi^; 
And si'ttini;' i>\'y y<>i\ diirk r;iviiic, 
'I1ir(»iii;ii llit'ir i;i't'V dcptliH no loiiM-cr seen, 
III crowiicd |)li:i,l;ili\ tlic|-<i u\v;iit 
Tliu ecrtiiin issue ol' tlicir I'itli'; 
Voy ill ;i tlioiisniid sliiiditwy luniis, 
Tlicy vunisli us tlic ninniin^- vviirniH. 
And tiinihliii^' <|ii\vii tlic hrokcii kIc('|i, 
.Hri<4'lit K|)iirl<Iiii;4' ciiSfJidrs lic:idl(»ii,t;- l<':i|», 
Wliirli cDiirsiii^', iis tlicy I'nJI Ix'lnw, 
'Hie wiiidiiii;" vnlc, tlicir niiiniiiiriiiL;' lluw 
()<)iiiiiiiii<4l<'S with tlic melody 
Of warbling' tliroiils from lirake :iiid t i'ih;, 
And r.'ir <»!)' sliec|> lielTs tiiiMini;' note, 
And sound of woodman's axe remote, 
And inseets' droning- sympliony. 
Wliili^ tile slirill iiioiiiit;iiii clMritui elear, 
That. <|iiiveriii^' cleaves llic d(;\v_y air, 
Sla,rllcH IK^ei echo from the woods, 
llcr nliadcs and driianiy Kolitiidcs, 
Who, sliy, retreats ilu! vaht aJoii^', 
Yet witli ;i,a_y iniscliii!!* on her ton^^ius, 



150 



M O IJ, N T N n 



llcpciils ('.'tell sound willi sweet (l(^ciiy, 
Kiiiiitci-, MS Inst sIk^ Hies uwiiy. 

Now l(^t, lis cliiiil) to v<iii(Icr lu'i^-lit, 
And i;i\(; expansion to tl((^ sii;lit. 
O'er i-olliii<^ woods, whose stiitelj trees 
In licndini;' i;i':ice obey tlie hree/e, 
'I'lic r:i\ islie(| eye dilutol l»oiiiids 
O'er miles of eidtix aled i;'i'oMnds, 
l''iclds di' i'i|ie "^'rain and meads in (lower, 
Willi eotlai;(' homes all dolfed o\>r — • 
Homes llial repay lor all llieir loil, 
The happy tillers of the soil. 
Siieli scenes the i;'enerons sold must iiro, 
And elexalini;' thoni^hts inspir(>. 
Who can hehold so (air a, show. 
Nor fee! his Iireast with tei'Nor i;low if 
"With tenderei- chai'ities inclined 
T'wafd all the race o(" Iniman kind; 
And t'ward that honnteons (iod above, 
"Who eV(M- iz;uai-(ls ns with his love, 
A i;ralitiide without- alloy, 
For all llu' bh>ssin^'s we enjoy. 



NIGHT. 151 



NIGHT. 

Night! gentle queen of lil'c's fur sweeter lialf, 

Mild mistress of the nieditutive mind! 

To thee, heneath whose dee[) enchiintin<2; powei', 

The minstrels ol' all aji^-es and all (dimes 

Have their enamored souls poured forth in 

son^- ; 
To thee, wdiile mnsie strikes her stii-rin^ ciiords, 
Thiit in sweet modulations rise; and i'all 
Upon the evening medium still, Fll weave 
A simple laj. 

I'he sunset glow is jjassed, 
The purple eve has faded into grey. 
And twilight dim has gone to hich; herself 
Within thy i'olding rohe of silence and 
Ilepose. The stars that sj)eak of lu!av(;ii and 

God, 
Are elustered in thy bosom: the new moon — 
Pale crcseent — sits upon thy brow, and o'er 
The noiseless world a silvery lustre sheds, 



152 



N 1(1 1 1 'I' . 



Sol'l MS llic mellow caliii Hint cvr\A mI cvo 
Tlir(>Ui;li I'ldciTs li!i|»|>} t;T()vi's, Ami not u 

sound 
Is heard Have such as swell tli(> inelo<lv 
'I'hal saturates, like halm ol' sunnuer tlowers, 
'The depllis of nature sa\(' the munu urines ol" 
The distant waterlall, the di'oiiiui;' hum 
(){' insects, or the whis|>erini;s ot' the hree/o. 
(Hi! what a. time to listen to the Noice 
( )|" Meiiiorv, as she whispers ol' the past, 
( hiee lo\ed so well, hut now, alas! no nior(\ 
The troops ol" friends that tlironi;'ed the husy 

li.'ld, 
Through which life's [>alliwav wound, w liiMV 

are t liev now i 
(ioni> l"rom the earth like mists t"rom oil" the 

hills. 
Some lit' unhoiiored in a straii!4'er land, 
AVilh not a stoin- to mark their last sad place 
or ri'st ; «»thers lia\i" t"ound a watt'i'v i;'ra\t', 
l'\)od for the nioiislers ol" the deep; while some 
Still hear llie onerous char^'c ot" life, tired of 
Their hurdeiis, vet reliiclant to (h'part. 

r>ul not on such sad Ihemcs, heiu'ath thy siiiilc 



N I (1 II 'I'. 153 

() placid Ni;:;lit! will iiiciiKtry liii^'cr loiii;'. 
ricasiircs, wliosti buns i'oiiiciiihi'aiicc ^^^ivoK lliciii 

Lack 
To be. enjoyed a;j;!i,iii, nisli last and lliiek 
Upon llie expandin^j;' lie:ii't.. Wlio dotli not, 

nuiid 
The nioonli^hl randden with llie ^^cnlle maid 
Thai won his early vow -Iuh <;'a/e iid-iiMrio 
or soft beseech ini;', and llie blush lha,l <j;ilVO 
Jll silent ehxpienee ils KWecit. reripOUHU '^ 
lliippy — iUv'w.ii hiippy season ! once enjoyed, 
No eoiinlcrpart. e'er coines — ii sini^'h; spitl. 
or ^-reen in Hie wild waste oC life, Hie l>ust. 
ITiicloudeil by the shadow of re^rc-t, 
Tli(^ riiliire radiant, as the ^lory <»l" 
"i'lie jnornin;^,' star. 

AikI holy is tlie tlieine, 
To wliicii, sweet, .Ni-^'ht,! thou lov'st, lo lead 

aloii/^ — 
Th<! lioirie of childhood, l^ul- ii, few sliorl, yeurH 
Jliivi! siH'-d iiway, si'icit the; lirsl, da,vv!i of life, 
^VImmi inluuc-y M,wok(! to eonseiotismsss, 
And coiiBcioiiKiiess (!.\p!Uidin<;', (dust'riiijjj boru 
'j'he btids tliiit (piickly opened into joys — 
7* 



154 NIGHT. 

Joys that the home of childhood only knows — 
Pure joys and ripe, that in a countless throng, 
Through the young unchecked heart come 

capering 
After each other in a merry chase. 

But why explore the regions of the past, 
In search of gems to string the strand of life? 
When with each little instant, ere it flies. 
The bounteous hand of heaven opes for man 
ISTew channels of delight, showering down 
Its gifts, alike upon the lofty and 
The low. Night tunes the soul to rapturous 

joy; 

For here beneath this cloudless canopy, 
Where all creation wears the sober garb 
Of peace, the heart, its restless passions laid, 
And all its warring tumults stilled, assumes 
A corresponding tone, and eager drinks 
The luxury of the beautiful and good. 
The day may have its feverish delights. 
Its train of fierce excitements and pursuits, 
But when the noisy and tumultuous world 
Is hushed in sleep, when the last sounds of 
mirth 



NIGHT. 155 

Have died, and tlioiiglitless gayetj sinks down 
Exliausted from her giddy round, then is 
The hour — the holy hour — for memory, 
For meditation, and for God. 



15G SPIRIT OF THE NIGHT "WIND, 



SPIRIT OF THE NIGHT 
WIND. 

Daylight's last ray cxpirini!^, 
Leaves of tlie real but a dream beliind, 
Then wliitlu'r but to its own depths retiring, 

Shall turn uiy drooping mind? 

Like a dark prison seeming, 
Stagnant and dull this world my soul enthralls. 
That fain would go into the light that's beam- 
ing 

Beyond life's stony walls. 

Yet while these fancies nursing, 
Still dwells the s]urit in the house of clay, 
And. here with nature finds herself conversing, 

In the old familiar way. 



' SPIRIT OF THE NIGHT WIND. 157 

Tliiis while tlie still eartli lying 
Asleep in night's cool dew, methinks I hear 
The spirit of the wind, in whispers sighing 

Sweet counsel in my ear. 

And thus it seems reproving: 
"Why stands a mortal musing here alone? 
As if the vain regrets his heart now moving, 

None but himself had known. 

" Over the far earth roaming, 
No nook so hidden but 'tis known to me; 
Now from the mountain's breezy summit 
coming, 

Now from the booming sea. 

"There's not a human dwelling — 
Be it the hut where crime and want are wed, 
Or gilded dome where pride's vain heart is 
swelling — 

Tliat I've not visited. 

" Seeking, but never finding 
One spot so guarded that the serpent care 



il»S H r 1 U 1 T !•' Till'; M 1 (I II T WIND. 

(1(MiM (•(•luc iiol. ill, llir(>ii<;'li irraclici-diis putli- 
\\!ivi; w iudiii:;', 

',1"(» (Icill its Nl'IKMIl Uu'i'o. 

" r.cliiiKl :i IrclliM <.i,li(liiii;-, 
W liilr t^l rc;iiiii'(l I lie \ t-llow iii(»oiilii;lil iVdiii :ilio\ (>, 
Tnc Iicnrd llic l>r:iliii^s (if two licnrls (•(•iirKlinuj 

III tlii'ir f;iiiiiiiit'r drcniii of I<>\0. 

"'rime, oil! how soon (Icpiirliii';' ; 
A I \v('l\ ciiiinil li pMSM's, 1111(1 I seek oiicc more 
'riiiil spol lli(> iiiooiiIm'!iiiis liiii;lil as ovi-r dai'l 
iiii"; 

.Down down on llu" cold lloor; 

" r>iil willi loNc's warm llood licavin;!;, 
W'liv do I licar no more I licir licarls' I'lill bonl ? 
Alas! one oiih li\('s slio lor lirr lover <^rii'V- 

lie in liis windiii!'' slu'ct. 



" ^^ol•I^s taint i;"rc_v i;'liniiin'r ('r(>r|iin;:^ 
'riiroiiidi lilt' whiU> ciirtaiiis round tlu>in closely 
drawn, 



,^ ri I! IT (»K Tlll'l N I (1 IIT W INI). I.^!> 

I \0 Hccil ll|)()|l II liKil lifl''n bosom Mlccniii;';, 
j\u inriiiil. iH'wly lioiii. 

" llcr lo\illo- (<y(. \vilM Wlllcllill^'; 

Ilrr IrmKiiiT willi ii, -.^riilffiil, -■iisliiii;'; jo\', 
I 'ii<'oiis<Moiis llinl nil icv IimimI wmh toiicliiii"' 
The rorclic'id of licr |t(»y. 

" Alim I on nil nidrs liiniiii";, 
Tlic I'liliil Inilli in roiiiKJ Hiill wiillni Ilirr(« - 
lOiicli liiiiiiiiii liciirl liiiK iln own hi'<'I'i'I. ycnni- 

l''iiicli liiiH iirt cross l() l»c!i,r. 

"'riic nun licr (IccimIcs IcIIIiim', 
III cell rclircd (lie liojy iniiii of |>rnycr, 
Tlui _y(»iilli, IiIk liciirt, willi ni.'id :inil>ilio!i lUVcli- 

l''n.iii('Vi idlf \vrc;illi lo \\c;ir; 



"'I1ic liiMi^lily iiioiinrcli iTi^-nin;.';, 
Tlic inrrcliiiiil, wilJi IiIh h\\\\>h iiikI IV('i;;li(c(| Kl.orc, 
Tlic lioiisclcHH Wiunlcrci' liis cold morHcI 'niijiiii" 

Ak lir, Ih'''"m fiwMii <l(>(»r l(» (lour 



160 SPTIUT 01'' TIIK N 10 TIT WIND. 

"All would <>(' joy l>o rea})iii<^, 
But with tlui i;Tiiin wild _i!;i"iiss too must full, 
And sin's runk vines that round the heart come 
ci'eopiniz; — 

The curse alike of all. 

" Vain, then, is all repining ; 
The Ihoi'ii still rankles wheresoe'er we roam; 
Until at last lil'e''8 weary weight resigning, 

The wanderer finds his home." 

To a sweet cadence bringing 
Its song, the night ^\■ind wanders on its way, 
But still the hurdcn in my ear is rin<>;in<>:. 

And ever seems to saj, 

Tn ginitle tones re[)roving: 
"Why stands a mortal musing hero alone? 
As it" the \ain regrets his heart now moving, 

None but himself had known." 



TO MISS II. Mi;T. IGl 



TO MISS II. M(!T. 

Youth — maf^ic word ! Ilial o'ci- flic spirit liriii<]i;s 
Those dreamy visioiis of depiirted duys — 

Those iin!i<z;ea of hri^lif, and lovely things — 
That brief, sweut scusoii of oiii' smiles ;iiid 
tears ; 

Oft \vli(!ii Ihe eares that in life's ])ath\vay 

As timii J'olls oil and st(;ids o\ir years iiway, 
U])on my brow their ;^loomy shiidovvs liin;;', 
TIkjii dai'test to my sold :i sunny ray. 

And like the liirds that lly irom wintry wind, 

O'ei' Htt>rniy seas to find a Hummer lionus; 

My H|)irit leaves its present ills behind, 

In faney o'er youth's summer scenes to roam 
U 



iny 



TO M I MM II M .1 '1'. 



'I'lir Inij'llt, imrlii|l(|i'(l ;';iiV(-lv of Vdlltll, 
'I'lli' jmniiK i;|iiil'lvlt' of II cliiltliuli {'\{\ 

Spriu;',!! iViHu llir I'diml tif juirilv nml Inilli. 
And ('liiiiiihi niv Iu'mi'Th ii'crllowiii,"; Hvm|)!illiy. 

Hill iiumi I I'rcl, (Iciic jL';irl, lor (.||(^ likt^ llico, 
W lu)K(' tli't'iiiiiM dl' cliilillKKnl llti)' I'drcvcr ;i,'(»li(i, 

llitvc li'll llii-c iilill lliv ninlt'MM piirilv. 

And Ih'miiIn, Ion, Mild \oiilli Id t'iill lliiiK^ dWii. 



< >ri !IM I ^W'AV lljidll lliv Hiulliiiv; lil'ttW, 

I W ImIi m liii|t|iii'|- ^;ll(^ lliv diiy:* IllMV (TdWIl, 
rilMII Ml:; llic li'l of mdli;il;l dl'l Id KlldW, 

And llmt \\\y ^)dulli u\ny [uuvc uii riulluaB 
ono. 



A N i (JU T A r /! |(; A 



A N I (Ml T A T H 1'! A , 

D.MtIi i;» llic iii;_r|il, llin |i..|i<li,»li wiii.lf, ni'r liowl 

in;/ l/diilly ; 
III IjiJv)' iiioiinliiiiiM lii'lii ilr.rir, ll,,- In. In, no, \i\hh 

iii/j; Hcii ; 

Hill, rCHf, \\\y JKMll't, nili ((.il.li 11. . I, \,,\r\ i) 
(lloll lull |(i\(f.(, MHi. 

Klill firiv.!'. Hi.- ii|.,nii ; <.li, hyin;.'; hour ! in lutiK 

l-.O Iriiij Id ]h; 

'riiiiii |>lim/jiii/r lii'liiilifiH lliruii^'li llir <liirl( l.o 
lii'iivo n, iiiiMlijiiiicd «('ii. ; 

llllf. (ilir IIkm' )i.,I, my j.irrir.Md ollti; lin Iihdm 

iJlilJl COlllM |(> llicit. 



TIk- liiiil.ciit r-racK, ciicli i-,ii,il in n-iil, clill liiulicr 

l»'li)(f< I lie Mita I 

T,oii(|, iiihI yd, loii.l.r ftlirii'I'.i'. Ww |»I(i,mI, U\ wiM 

n.ii«l iii<((;|<i|j^ ^|()(t ; 
iJlll. Iiii'li iil.ovfr (lie, iloilii <!.,lli H.-iiVfll hrr.u 

W;j,l,(;)j (/(•-<• |,|i(!c iiinl I, Mi. 



164 A NIGHT AT SEA. 

"Who knows ! Our sliattered bark may yet ride 

on the gale and be. 
Ere breaks to-morrow's dawning light, from 

every danger free ; 
With sails all set to win the breeze — the land 

upon our lee. 

Come closer to my heart, my love, my love 

that lovest me ; 
And if o'erwhelmed the ship goes down, we'll 

yet united be, 
IN'or fear another stormy night, through all 

eternity. 



THE TWO WORLDS. 165 



THE TWO WO ELDS. 

What seems tliis world to me? in one bold 
point 
Of riew, I see it as a rolling spliere, 
On whicli I headlong plunge through trackless 
sjjace, 
Like a wild courser in his mad career. 

Yet all the while she seems to stand unmoved, 
The centre of a fathomless domain ; 

Wherein sun, moon, and stars revolving seem, 
Around their queen, as her attendant train. 

Again she seems, in quiet majesty, 

To lead the seasons of each coming year — 

Stern winter— smiling, budding, blushing 
spring — 
Eipe summer — aumtun— all in turn appear. 



166 THE TWO WORLDS. 



I see her in lier flowing robe of flowers, 
Or like a brooding bird upon her nest, 

'Mid foliage rich and motionless, as tranced 
In noonday dreams she lies at rest. 



O'er hoary forests seems she now to reign, 
Dark as the shadowy brow of night; Avhere 
broods 

Tlie silence of a hundred centuries. 
Unbroken in those mighty solitudes. 

And then she comes in evening mood, when 
low 
The pale new moon, upon yon western 
hill. 
Hangs like a silver lamp of transient hope. 
With gleams at least of joy, lone hearts to 
fill. 

I see her in my waking hours ; in dreams 
She visiteth the dreary realms of night, 

To people them with forms of loveliness. 
Such as the seraphs are who dwell 
light. 



THE TWO WORLDS. 167 

Yet oft, alas! when e'en tliis peerless earth 
To my bruised spirit can no balm impart, 

I turn for solace to that little world, 
That hides itself within my silent heart. 

For e'en 'mid ruins mouldering in decay. 
Some flower unblighted still the spot may 
bear ; 

And in my heart something may yet remain, 
To say to me, that all my world is there. 



168 CONSTANCY. 



(U)NSTANCY. 

'Ti^^ iiiaii's (lull w;i_v to ])r;it(' lliat constancy 
iK'loiili'ctli iiol (o :iiii;-li( dt" WdinnnkiiKl ; 
"^riiat "witli \]\o i;viitlcr sex, ovcf llic i^-ravo 
Of one (lead laiicy yi't niiotlKM- cliiubs, 
AV^liicli ill ils turn lits Ituriinl Avilli tlu' rest. 
Yet is tlioi'o oft heiicatli llic outward lonn 
Of ^0^1011^ perishable lo\-eliness, 
A st)ul that lifteth u|> ilt^ latch but uiice, 
And lettiui;- enter but a single ij;uest, 
(^loseth its i;'ates and casts the key away. 
O Love! how stroiiii' in such a soul ai't lluni ! 
I*\)r with a cliaiu of adamantine sti'en<j,th, 
Thou ^'irdest it around witii closest tit's, 
That loosen not while life's warm currents ilow. 
O Love! how brii^'ht in such a soul art tlioii ! 
lh-ii;'ht as tlu> lij>htnin<2; in a midnii;'ht cloud, 
.Uut ilashini;- not like it, out' moment ere 
It dies : for as th(> sun, in torrid clinicf!, 



CONSTANCY. 1G9 

NcVt KuiTcrs cartli to ('ool, suid only siiil<B 
At liiglit, lliut purest dews IVoiii liciivcii msiy 
T^csccnd, iuid IVcslicii (^Ncry Iciidci' plant ; 
'^riiiiM dofli llic I'ldl iipi'iscii (»rl) of love 
W;uMii into lir<', !Uid to ix'rrcclioii hriiii^ 
A tlioiisiiiid ricli, liixiirinnt (!Vcri;'i'c(!iiH, 
'I'liat know no iVost, no cold aulnninal Masts; 
'i'liut nonrislinicnt inddlic IVoni l)itt('rest tears, 
And stiii'dicr i;'row in sorrow's darkest lioiir. 
() Love! how pure in sncli ii sold art, lliou! 
ydl', with its snl»lil(! <!}'(!, discoloretli not 
Tliy cryslul depths, transparent as the li;j,'ht, 
Wlicrein !ir(! treasured uspimtioiiH pure, 
And holy lhou<i;hts, and <^ener()us resolves, 
Sueli iis the iin<;'els h»ok' on and ari; ;^'hid. 
LiL;ht hut that spai'k, wliat if Iier passion's vuin. 
She still loveH on — still garners in lier sold 
The memory of a once; I'onil l)eiii<^', thoii;:,h 
Perchance he may have proved us laJthless us 
The tickle wind, tliut, si;4hs uuliile upon 
Some teiidei' llowi'r, tiien lea\es it tli(;re todii;' 
Or he to vvliom conlidiii;^ly she chin*:,', 
Tliougli fuithfid to tlu! lust, may yet huve j^'onu 
Upon the summons (j1' uii eurly d(joiii. 
8 



170 CONST ANGY. 

Yet c'cn this cruel blow the flame outlives, 
And burns with secret fire tho' life be dead ; 
Or lingering on, despoiled of hope, to bring 
At last a willing victim to the tomb — 
The easy gate through which her soul, set free, 
Kejoins its kindred essence in the shies. 

Nor is she changed when hope's fullllled, and 

all 
Is prosperous ; the bark in which is borne 
Her souFs best prize, on time's rough sea's 

ne'er wrecked, 
Kor led by cunning wiles and smooth deceits. 
Into the vortex of inconstancy ; 
Days, weeks, and years serve only to increase 
Its precious freight of rich, delicious joy. 



BHYMES ABOUT THE CABLE. lYl 



RHYMES ABOUT THE CABLE 

Up, up ! and let's liasten away 

Tlirongh tlie caiioii of ages to climb, 

Till we sit by the fountains that play 
At the very head-waters of time. 

Where chaos, cold, formless, and dead. 
In a pall of black midnight was hung. 

Till creation — ^lier smiling first-born — 
From the womb of eternity sprung. 

Here on the dread confines of space, 
All silent and awe-struck we stand. 

As the fair earth from nothing comes forth 
Into li<>;ht at its Maker's command. 

Then mark, 'mid the wonders we see, 

That in his inscrutable plan. 
One hemisphere only he gives 

To be trodden by footstep of man. 



173 RHYMES A B U T T 11 K CABLE. 

The otlier in solitude dwells 

Far out o'er the une.\])lored main, 

And the waters that gulf the great deep, 
lie has hiddeu to sunder the twain. 

And not until ages shall roll, 
And AdanTs racc^ mult i|»lii'(l lie, 

As the h'aves of the i'oi'ests of earth, 
As the sands in the drifts of the sea, 

Shall the great Oeeiin Projihet go forth 
AVilh (aitlTs loftv hanucr uufurh'd. 

To fnthoni tho foarful nnknowu, 

And give to mankind a New World. 

"Where seattered hroad-cast shall upspi'ing 

The se(>(l of llu> old fatherland- 
Thirty million utnv henrts to unfold, 
And unite to the family haiul. 

And tlu> white sail shall swell to tlu> wind. 
As with greetings it goes aiid returns: 

]>ut dull seems the hreeze to the mind 
That expeets, or tlu'; hosoni that hui'us. 



RHYMES ABOUT T II K CABLE. 173 

And what if, outwinging tlie wind, 
The steamers sweep over tlie sea? 

E'en the flight of the carrier-bird 
Must too slow for this century l^e. 

For oui- kindred ai-e over tlie deep, 

And daily we'd wish them (i(Hlsj)eed; 

So the (Jablc once; uiori; must he laid, 
The Great Enterprise must succeed. 

Thus the lightning is made to come down. 

And under the ocean to run ; 
To thrill like a delicate nerve 

Of sensation and motion in one; 

Till two worlds, with an ocean between, 
Eespond like the bells of a chime; 

Or as two gentle lovers converse 
To the sweet beating pulses of time. 

O wondrous invention of man ! 

Usurping the province of thought, 
That the uttermost ends of tlici eai-th 

May in closest communion be brought. 



IV^ roil ALL BUT ME. 



FOE ALL BUT ME. 

TiiK cool, iswoct nioriiing air comes Lroatliiiig 
on lue, 
"NN'itli s(or(> of tVaiiTanee from tlio "worUl of 
llowors ; 
I lioar tlio (luavrrim:,' trill^of birds beguiling,, 
AVidi Iioiru'd strains, the bright but Hooting 
honrs. 
How lair and liappv sooms this Morhl to bo, 
Alas ! for all but uie. 

Voices I hoar in various couvorso joining, 

I'onoatli mv \vin(K>\v as tlu>y come aiul go, 
And some in choorl'ul tones and some in laugh- 
ter, 
And sonu> in tender ai'oeuts, sweet and low. 
Drops }'et of joy there seem for all to be, 
Alas ! why not for me I 



FOR ALL BUT ME. 175 

Hark ! liow the church bell in its turret swing- 
ing, 
Flings on tlio air its voice Cull tonucl and 
deep, 
A tranquil peace to countless hctsoins hringing, 
Tiiat never yet have learnt what 'tis to weep. 
Full oft again 'twill I'iiig out nicrrily, 

]Jut ]iot, alas, for ine ! 

Adowii the viewless track of time I'm ii'lidina'. 
And earth's rich beauties all around mo 
glow; 
A glorious walk it seems for all abiding 

In tlie valley wo are treading here below. 
But there's a land they call eternity. 

Brighter, I hoj)e, for mc ! 



176 LITTLE TOMMY 



LITTLE TOMMY. 

How strange to iis the ways of God ! 

How quick is grief to grow 1 
And liearts without a warning word. 

Their ii)\st afflictions know. 

1 saw a grou}) with smiling looks, 
That told the joy they felt; 

Love filled the sunny atmosphere 
With light wherein they dwelt. 

A sweeter scene of quiet peace, 

My fancy never drew — 
Tlie father and the mother, and 

Those little brothers two. 

Oh sudden came the mandate 

From the chancery above. 
To shatter, like a thunderbolt. 

That shrine of life and love 1 



LITTLE TOMMY. 177 

Tlio youngest and tlie fairest — 
The pearl — the i^recious tlower— 

TJie niutlier's darling little pet. 
Ah, pitiful the hour! 

Drojjped like a blossom from a tree, 

And ])assed from earth away, 
Yet never more to suffer 

In this vesture frail of clay. 

Weep not for him, poor mother ; 

'Twas thy God, who knows thy pain, 
That gave him, and His blessed will 

Tliat calls him back agfain. 

Lift up thy drooping spirit high. 

Thy loving Lord adore, 
And "Father," say, "Thy will be done, 

Now and forever more." 

For precious — priceless is the grace, 

On bruised ones that's poured, 
Who in their hour of darkness come 

To lean upon their Lord. 
8* 12 



178 THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN, 



THOUGHTS OF HE AYE N. 

To liim Avlio bounding not witli narrow view, 
His vision, to the cold, dull things of earth, 
l>ut wlu), with eye of faith, reaches beyond 
The illusive promises of pleasure, fame, 
Or ]){)wer, with steadfast soul to rest ujjon 
The thought of an eternity beyond. 
There's not a gleam on the flood tide of ho^jc, 
Swimming before him, that witii readier glance 
His eye discerns, than that bright moment, 

when, 
Mortality cast off, with all its cruel stings 
Of blight and sorrow, care, mistrust, and woe, 
lie, soul-freed as from dismal dreams shall wake ; 
Aye, wake to brimful joy, in greetings with 
Those dear companions of his heart, from whom 
He parted one by one on life's dull shore. 
Glorious reunion, and so sure the bond ; 
Free, too, each heart, and gushing as his own. 



- TlIOUGnTS OF HEAVKN. ITli 

All coldness gone ; all old estrangements dead ; 
All grievous wounds healed up without a scar, 
And every thing most prized now perfect grown. 
Ah! could we but in hi-ight, unshadcnved view 
Tills vision keep, how easy were tlie ta.sk, 
By God imposed, to labor to the end ; 
Losing, in hopes of heaven, all ])ainfiil sense 
Of present ills, planting the })athway to 
The grave with flowers, and at each step to- 
ward 
That narrow house, seeing, without regret, 
Another stone fall in to fill the chasm 
That lies between us and eternity. 



180 



SUNDAY KVKMlNli 



S II I^ 1) A V K \ i: IS' I N (J. 

"Six (lays," sailli llic Lord, '•'shall llmii lahor, 

Six oiil (if tlic scNcii arc thine; 
Six to sow, and to reap, and to i^'athcr; 

Unt rfnicinhci' the scNi'iith is mine."' 

He liath S!ud it, the Lord and the ^faster, 
L>nt man knowcth ln'Kcr than lie, 

l*'oi' he i;'rn(li;('th his maker llis I'ractioii, 
And lVi)\\ us at. Ills lovin<;' decree. 

Oh! weai'v the hearts that are waslini;', 

And wearing- their tissnes away, 
iU'canse of the hard atid tlu' sellish, 

AVho heed not the Lord's Messed day. 



So th(> sun t'ward the ocean is siuldui!;, 

And nuirnini;''s bright hours have all ^"ouo, 

Coust'crated to rest and dcNotion, 

Ere the task thcN' have set uie is done 



SUNDAY EVENMNd. IS I 

But at length I have crept from my prison, 
From Jiiy fetters awliile to l)e free, 

From the din of the hive I liave wandered 
To the liills that hjok out o'er the sea. 

To these liills that rise up from the waters. 

S(j cold and so silent and lone, 
That they seem to I'espond to my sadnest 

From hearts that are sad as my own. 

Here I sit while the IiusIumI hours are leaving 
Scarce even their shad(jws foi' me, 

Till the gi'eat liery ghjlx; slowly sinketh 
In the depths of the violet sea; 

Till the m'ght's wide pavilion descendeth, 

And silence sits under lier ])all, 
And seems in the dread su])e)'natural, 

My soul by its touch to enthrall ; 

Till the stars their bi-ight radiance arc dai'ting 
From the depths of the dark dome above 

As brilliant as sparkles the hoar frost, 
But cold as a home without love. 



182 SUNDAY EVENING. 

Yet steadily rest they upon me, 

So pure in their passionless gaze, 
That from earth and its dnlness they draw me, 

To God and his wonderful ways. 

For He saith that the poor are His children, 
As well as the mighty and grand. 

That for them, too. He scatters His blessings. 
As the sower the seed from his hand. 

Then peace, murm'ring heart, in all bosoms 
Joy mingles its measure with care ; 

So the rich and the poor should be brothers. 
For both have their burdens to bear. 

On the breeze from the bay's rippling bosom. 
Comes the hum of the city again. 

And as night's deep'ning shadows close round 
me, 
I return to the dwellings of men. 



EVENING HYMN. 183 



E Y E N I K G H Y M K . 

The evening stillness sweetly steals 
O'er earth and air; 

The vesper chimes, in solemn peals, 
The hour of prayer ; 

While with rapt hearts and bended knee, 

We chant our evening hymn to thee, 
Yirgin Bless'd, to thee ! 

The birds with music sweet, no more 

The forest fill; 
The melody of day is o'er. 

All, all is still ; 
Save that in holy liarmony. 
We chant our evening hymn to thee, 

Yirgin Bless'd to thee! 



184 EVENING HYMN. 

Virgin Motlier, linger near, 

Our prayers approve, 

And upward to our Father bear 
Our Avords of love, 

While robed in faith our souls agree 

To chant our evening hynni to thee, 

Virgin Bless'd, to thee! 



4' 



AUBURN, MY HOME 185 

A.UBUEN, MY HOME. 

An ! darker still settles the gloom on my "brow, 

As long years creep cheerlessly on ; 
And sadly I tnrn from the dark picture now, 

Of a life whose bright hopes have all gone ; 
For the voices that once were so sweet to my ear, 

Hushed and silent foi'cver must keep, 
And tin; iViends of my youth, to my Ijosoui so 
dear, 

'Neath the green sod of Auburn now sleep. 

For me the bright waters of life's joyous stream 

SI I all glitter and sparkle no more; 
Of its once cheerful sunlight there's scarce a 
faint gleam 
Left to gladden its desolate shore. 
But though the dark billows between us now 
roll. 
And sad though my spirit must be, 
Sweet solace, dear Auburn, my world-wearied 
soul 
Still finds in its memories of thee. 



186 DESOLATION, 



DESOLATION. 

Shriek, cold wind, shriek ! 

O'er this hill-top bleak, 
Never cease with yonr woeful wail 

Through the jagged lines 

Of the tall, dark pines, 
As they shake in the icy gale. 

And past is the fright 
Of the long, wild night, 

As it lifts up its horrible pall; 
And the snow and sleet, 
Like a winding sheet. 

Have covered the mountains all. 

And the eagle swings 
On his mighty wings. 

And screams in the clear blue sky, 
As he rushes past. 
In the whirl of the blast. 

To his white-hooded crag on high. 



DESOLATION. 187 

And wretched and lone 

On tins frozen stone, 
Sits one who is longing to lie 

By her side who was laid 

In the grave that they made 
Last night ere the storm came by. 



188 HOPE. 



HOPE. 

HorE, lilvc a mockinsi; spectre, lingers last 
Among the fragments of a ruined life ; 
And, ever and anon, drags the dark soul 
Out of itself, pointing fallaciously 
To images of joj ne'er to be realized. 



EVA. 189 



E YA 



Eva, Eva, on thj l)ruw, 
Why tliat Lroodiiig sliudow now? 
Why tliat filling, .swininiin<i- eje, 
Quivering lip and broken .sigh? 

Come, my dove! 
Mood like this shonld neV-r Ik- thine; 
Place thy little hand in mine. 
Set at once thy secret free, 
Give thy bosom all to me. 

Wilt thou, love? 

Sjioke no word the i>retty creature; 
Sadness still touched every feature ; 
'Twas as clear as (;rystal water. 
That the green-eyed ghoul had brought her 

Into troid>le. 
Tlien unto my heart I di-ew her ; 
Whispered earnest words unto her ; 
Strove to show by soft i)ersuasion, 
'Twas a mere infatuation — 

All a bubble. 



190 EVA. 

Half she smiled, then throii^^-h her pouthig, 
Half convinced, and yet half doiihting. 
Oh what mischief may arise 
From a pair of midnight eyes ! 

If another's 
Bright and blue ones should discover, 
Or hut fancy that her lover 
Sipped a single drop of pleasure 
From the jetty liquid measure 

Of the other's. 



IV. 

GRANDMAMMA'S 
CHRISTMAS TALE 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 193 



GE AND MAMMA'S CHRISTMAS 
TALE. 

I. 

On ! we youngsters were a nieny set, a l<eei)iiio 

Christmas night 
111 the i3arlor sinig and cozy, where the fire 
blazed warm and briglit ; 

And in cushioned easy chair, 
Grandmamma sat dozing there, 
Quite unconscious, tho' the fun was at its iiei'dit 

n. 
But at length we quiet grew, then cried a rosy 

little elf, 
"This is stupid, let's have grandma's tale, 'tis 
all about herself; 

To her promise she shall keep, 
So let's rouse her from her sleep; 
If she's angry, why, I'll bear the blame myself." 
9 13 



194: CHRISTMAS TALE. 

III. 
Then tlic saucy creature pulled the dear old 

lady's apron string, 
On wliose cheek was smacked a kiss that made 
the very ceiling ring, 

While she lifted n\) her eyes, 
Witli a look of lialt' surprise, 
And a smile tluit gentlest heart alone could bring. 

IV. 
In lier cap of snowy dimity she looked so clean 

and neat. 
Then her eye was full of kindness, and her 
voice was low and sweet ; 

And the tales slie used to tell, 
Wove around our hearts a spell. 
In the dreary winter evenings when we'd meet. 

V. 

But the story of her own young life, to us was 

yet a dream. 
For although we often pressed her, she con- 
trived to shun the theme; 

And the wish each day grew strongei', 

Till we vowed we'd wait no longer. 

For her pledge this very night she must redeem. 



CTIRTSTMAS TALE. 195 

VI. 

Like a knot of little gypsies then we gatlicred 

round lier knees ; 
And onr whispers fainter grew as dies the 
playful summer hreeze, 

As in her own gentle way, 
She began without delay 
Her story, and. the words she spoke \vere these : — 

vn. 
In my eyes sweet tears oft glisten as I sit 

alone and think, 
When my heart up to the gushing sti'eanis of 
memory goes to drink ; 

And the forms of those that were 
In my childhood's home so dear, 
In one happy picture fancy seems to link. 

VIII. 

There the vine-enwoven cottage, near the elder- 
clustered dell, 
Stood, half hidden by the branches from the 

spreading elms that fell ; 

And 'twere rash to disbelieve 
That at morning, noon,- or eve, 
Holy peace about the precijicts loved to dwell. 



19G C]I. RISTMAS TALE. 

IX. 

And my father, I rcnieniber liim, as 'twere but 

yesterday, ' 

With liis hx)k of sweet contentedness, that al- 
ways seemed to say, 

Oh ! how blessed is our lot, 
III tliis (juiet little eot, 
From the world and all its falseness, far away. 

X. 

And I seem as then to watch again the fea- 
tures of my mother. 
As she gazed with earnest tenderness upon my 
little l)r()ther ; 

For too frail a thing was he. 
Long in this chill world to be, 
While the angels waited for him in the other. 

XI. 

'Twas one evening, when to realms of light he 

knew lie must depart. 
And the thought that we should lose him 
nearly broke my little heart. 

That he turned to me and said : 
" Sister dear, when I am dead 
Do not think that we shall always be apart. 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 197 

XII. 

" On my angel wings I'll come to tliee at 

evening sweet and still ; 
I will visit thee at morning Avlien the sun 
comes o'er the hill ; 

"When alone, I will be near thee, 
Or when loving voices cheer thee, 
Wlien in sadness, or when joys thy bosom till." 

XIII. 

And that little dying brother, now an angel 

pure and briglit, 
Said he'd bring me gentle warnings from the 
fount of truth and light; 

Promised always to be near 
To whisper counsel in my ear, 
When through frailty I might waver in the right. 

XIV. 

Thus my angel watched and shielded me through 

each unfolding year, 
Kept my heart admonished always with a salu- 
tary fear; 

"When evil thoughts would tyrannize, 
Taught my trembling soul to rise 
To a purer height upon the wings of prayer. 



198 CHRISTMAS TALE. 

XV. 

TSTow tlie clays of youth at leiigtli were o'er, 

and thoughtfully I stood 
On the margin where the maiden merges into 
womanhood ; 

And a fuller joy dwelt in me, 
For a fond one sought to win me, 
And my virgin heart consented as he wooed. 

XVI. 

Ne'er give heed, my darling children, to the 

voice that laughs at love, 
'Tit; the manna of life's wilderness that falleth 
from ahove; 

But ])ure hearts alone 'twill bless, 
Strong in truth and earnestness. 
That thro' all, and unto death, shall faithful prove. 

XVII. 

Oh ! the earth came forth in richer garb in 

those dear days, I ween ; 
Then, the nu)rnings all seemed brighter, and 
the evenings more serene ; 

Every simple flower that gi'ew 
Took a warmer, deeper hue ; 
Every op'ning plant put on a tenderer green. 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 199 

XVIII. 

Tims I gave myself to present joy, for very 

well I knew 
That still nearer, each revolving sun, the hour 
of trial drew ; 

For too oft it is the part 
Of a fondly loving heart, 
By long suffering to prove if it be true. 

XIX. 

When, alas! the day of parting eame, my heart 

gi'ew chill wiih fear, 
When I pondered all the dangers that would 
soon beset my dear ; 

Till a voice my spirit awed. 
Saying, "Put thy trust in God." 
'Twas my angel that was whisp'ring in my ear. 

XX. 

Now a noble ship is bearing him; before the 

breeze she flies. 
Oh ! the crowd of deep, unuttered thoughts that 
in my bosom rise, 

As my fancy tclleth me 
How she skims the Indian sea. 
Skims the ocean where the spicy Ceylon lies. 



200 CHRISTMAS TALE. 

XXI. 

And with all my heart's devotedness I begged 

of Heaven each day, 
So to bless his generous efforts that he might 
not long delay. 

Oh! what joy then to have heard 
But one only little word, 
Just to tell us he was safe, though far away. 

XXII. 

But the weary months rolled round and yet no 

tidings could we hear, 
Till at last the radiant face of hope grew pale 
with ghastly fear. 

But my angel still would sigh : 
"Trust in liim who is on high, 
To His true and faithful ones lie's always near." 

XXIII. 

Then a l)ark from the Brazils one morn to us 

the rumor bore. 
That his vessel went to pieces on the Amazo- 
nian shore ; 

And of passengers and crew, 
There remained but only two. 
While the rest of them were heard of nevermore. 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 201 

XXIV. 

But a new -Lorn hope, as quick as tliought, 

sprung uj) within my breast, 
That the one our thoughts were following 
might yet survive the rest; 

And I never, from that day, 
Could the image put away, 
Tlius indelibly upon my soul impressed. 

XXV. 

But misfortune's crowniug hour came ere many 

months went by. 
With the darkness of a storm-cloud rising o'er 
our summer sky. 

When we felt ourselves secure 
In our cottage home no more ; 
'Twas another wound our trust in God to try. 

XXVI. 

By a cruel course of fraud they sought to rob 

us of our own — 
Of an undisputed heritage through generations 
gone. 

When, alas ! shall righteous cause 
Find its champion in the laws? 
Laws in whose great name all justice should be 
done. 



202 CHEISTMAS TALE. 

XXVII. 

Utter ruin seemed impending. In my poor old 

fatlier's face, 
Deepening lines of cank'ring care from day to 
day 'twas plain to trace — 

From liis liearth-stone to be liurled 
On a cold, unfeeling world. 
To begin again life's rougli and toilsome race. 

XXVIII. 

oil ! my lieart was torn by many a pang of an- 
guish, tlius to see 
The peace that blessed those dear ones turned 
to bitter poverty ; 

'Twas a cruel thought to brook. 
So a stern resolve I took, 
I would offer up myself and set them free. 

XXIX. 

For as he who had so crushed us was by am- 
ple fortune crowned, 
It was not in simple greed of gain his purpose, 
could be found. 

For by all that art could do. 
He'd sought my liand, tho' well he knew 
That my heart by solemn pledge had long been 
bound i 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 203 

XXX. 

Till I told liim that liis suit was vain, nay, 

odious to me. 
And tliat while the light of heaven shone his 
bride I'd never be. 

Then within his selfish heart 
He contrived, with subtle art, 
How he'd weave this web of dark inic^uitj. 

XXXI. 

Then I said, "His purpose he shall gain, but 

all for their dear sake ; 
Of myself I have resolved a willing sacrifice to 
make ; " 

So I dressed me on the daj 
In a bridal garment gay. 
With a cheerful air at least my vows to take. 

XXXII. 

When beneath the church's hallow'd dome we 

all had entered in. 
And the venerable priest had rose the service 
to begin, 

Then these words I seemed to hear, 
Like a knell upon my ear : 
" Oh ! to marry thus would be a dreadful sin." 



204 CHRISTMAS TALE. 

XXXIII. 

Then I saw no more the joyous light, nor heard 

the anthem sweet, 
But it seemed as if a dark abyss were yawning 
at my feet ; 

Till my angel's voice I heard. 
Like the singing of a bird ; 
Even now methiuks the strain I could I'cpeat. 

XXXIV. 

And it whispered of the vow that I had regis- 
tered above. 
Of tlui beanty and the holiness of one undying 
love ; 

Then my heart made this reply : 
"In the grave until I lie. 
Ever faithful to his memory will I prove." 

XXXV. 

Then I s})oke and said, "Dear father, there is 

naught 1 v/ouhl iK^t do 
To shield thy age from grief or pain, or bless- 
ings to bestow ; 

Peace and joy for thee to buy, 
Oh, liuw gladly would I die! 
But you knov\^ my heart was plighted lone: affo. 



CHRISTMAS TALE. 205 

XXXVI. 

"And to wed in hate — 'tAvere better that you 

heard my funeral chime, 
Than to have so dark a record placed upon 
the hook of time. 

Though to you I know 'twill bring 
Sorrow, ruin — every thing, 
Yet you would not have your daughter do a crime." 

XXXVII. 

'Twas my father, then, that spoke, and oh ! 

how noble was his air. 
As he turned to me and with liis hands put 
back my braided hair 

" You are right, my child," said he, 
" For this marriage shall not be ; 
Be the burden what it may that we must bear." 

XXXVIII. 

Now the one who Avould have bound me by a 

false, unholy vow. 
With a look of rage and shame upon his dark 
and scowling brow, 

As a deadly adder stings. 
Muttered coarse, unfeeling things; 
I remember how they pained me, even now. 



20G CHRISTMAS TALE. 

XXXIX. 

But tlie toucli of peace was on my lieart, al- 

thougli a pallid trace 
Of the struggle I had undergone, remained upon 
my face. 

l)Ut when the grace of Heaven, 
In tlie hlchjsing had been given. 
And at length we turned to leave the sacred place. 

XL. 

Then a stranger ste2)})ed from out the crowd 

and took me hy the luind ; 
Bronzed his face and thickly bearded, and his 
dress of foreign land ; 

But it proved a poor disguise, 
When he cast on me his eyes, 
With that look I used so well to understand. 

XLI. 

Tlien I felt a Avild sensation, half of joy and 

half of pain. 
For the shock it was so sudden it had well 
nigh crazed my brain. 

Aud my heart was all a flutter; 
Not a word my tongue could utter ; 
But my tears fell on the floor like drops of raiu 



C HEIST MAS TALE. 207 

XLII. 

Tims 'twas in the lioly presence of our blessed 

Lord, that we 
In the bonds of true affection should again 
united be ; 

There he jDressed me to his heart, 
And I knew we ne'er should part, 
For my angel stooped and whispered so to me. 

XLIII. 

It was Christmas morn, and never shone from 

heaven a brighter day, 
That our wanderer returned, and promised 
never more to stray ; 

And 'twas on that Christmas night, 
That we heard him there recite 
All that happened to him since he Avent away. 

XLIV. 

He had travelled many a weary mile, and 

traversed many a sea, 
And the wealth that he was brino;ino; back, 
he'd gathered all for me. 

In sweet peace that night I slept. 
For in life I ne'er had kept 
Such a holy, quiet Christmas jubilee. 



208 CHRISTMAS TALE. 

XLV. 

"With these words it was that grandma to an 

end her story drew, 
Then in silent reverie remained as she was 
wont to do. 

But before the spell had flown, 
That aronnd us she had thrown. 
And had left us free our pastimes to renew, 

XLVI. 

" 'Tis a very pretty tale, that," cried a voice 

beliind her cliaii* ; 
Quick we turned, when, who but grandj)a 
should be standing laughing there ; 
But 'twas plain enough to trace. 
As we looked into his face, 
That the old man's eye was glist'uing with a tear. 



V 



NEVERMORE ! 



MY MART. 211 



MY MAKY. 

Lovely in mind, in form, in face, 
Thy gentle heart the dwelling place 
Of every winning gift and grace. 
My Mary. 

Though beauty try, with witching wile. 
The lazy hours to beguile, 
Alas ! 'tis rain without thy smile. 
My Mary. 

"When life looks drear and sadness reigns. 
And faint each hope my heart contains, 
"What then can ease my bosom's pains ? 
My Mary. 

Let fate against me hurl her dart. 
Let fortune, friends — let all depart, 
Have I not still thy loving heart. 
My Mary? 



212 FAREWELL. 



F A E E W E L L . 

Our boat impatient bears delay, 

Hark, Lark, the warning bell ; 
Alas ! 'tis come, the fatal day, 

So Mary, fare thee well! 
Farewell ! dear Mary, thou shalt be. 

When I am wandering far. 
To light me in my lonely way, 

A never settinsf star. 

Our paths that part in winter drear, 

Shall meet again when spring 
Shall deck the earth with grass and flowers, 

And birds beg-in to sins;. 
Farewell! though all our tender joys 

This parting turns to pain. 
Old Time shall drain the bitter cup, 

And fill with joy again. 



FAREWELL. 213 

Our love again shall beam out briglit, 

Thougli darkened now with sorrow ; 
In clouds though sinks the setting sun, 

He'll brightly rise to-morrow. 
Soon shall we meet no more to part, 

A whispering something says, 
Then here's a health to her I love, 

A health to happier days. 



214 TO MARY 



TO MAEY. 

WITH A DOUBLE WILD JASMINE. 
1836. 

While walking in the green wood's shade, 
With thoughts of thee, my al3sent maid, 

I spied these blossoms rare ; 
Upon a tender vine they hung. 
Sweet, dreamy depths of moss among, 
That in the soft air gently swung 

Around the little pair. 

In mingled sweetness round they threw 
Tlieir fragrance, for they double grew 

Upon a single stem ; 
And thus they closely clung together 
111 sunny days, in ehilling weather, 
And each one seemed unto the other 

A crownino; 2:em. 



TO MART. 



215 



All! thus, I cried, may fate decree 
The current of our lives to be, 

And gently onward move; 
And may our hearts in joy's green spring. 
Or when they're touched by sorrow's sting, 
Like these sweet flowers together cling 

In endless love. 



216 TO THE WILD JASMINE, 



LINES TO THE WILD JASMINE. 
1850. 

Why, little plant, so delicate and frail, 
While forest beauties all around me lie, 

Wafting unheeding fragrance to the gale, 
Canst thou alone arrest my wandering eye ? 

Wliy on these golden bulbs, that tender stem, 
Do I still linger in so fond a maze? 

More fondly far than on a diadem. 

Ambition's votary sets his raptured gaze. 

'Tis not thy beauty, tenderness, and grace, 
That weave about me now this potent spell ; 

Though years ago they won for thee a place 
In my esteem, no flower could fill so well. 

But thou, by skilful touch, hast joined the chain 
That links the present with the far-off past ; 

And one bright sunny spot in youth again 
Sweetly attracts, then binds my spirit fast. 



. TO THE WILD JASMINE. 217 

Once on a day when soft the west wind blew, 
And my warm bosom amorous answers lent, 

A double bloom of thine, of golden hue, 
I plucked and to my gentle Mary sent. 

And now one boon — one other double flower, 

"Which like the former I'll to Mary send ; 

That it may touch that happy chord once more, 

And keep it thrilling to life's latest end. 
10 



218 THE STEAMBOAT. 



THE STEAMBOAT. 

The fires are up, tlie chimneys high 
EoU their black volumes 'gainst the sky; 
The steam set free — its deafening roar 
In echoes dies along the shore. 
Then at the word the line's cast off; 
The 'scape-pipe puffs with hollow cough ; 
Our keel the parting waves obey, 
And we are bounding on our way. 
Then one last look we cast behind, 
Some face familiar still to find, 
Or yet to catch some farewell word ; 
But only can the hum be heard 
Of mingled voices murmuring on, 
Till in the distance lost and gone. 

Then turning from this fading scene. 
We pace the deck with careless mien, 
To gaze into the oily deej), 
As through its surge we swiftly sweep; 



THE STEAMBOAT. 219 

Or watch the wreaths of vapor rise 
And mingle with the misty skies — 
Types of those few who from their birth — 
The loveliest and the best of earth, 
Are ever doomed the first to fade, 
And slumber with the early dead. 

IS'ow back and forth the engine plies, 
With giant force the axle flies. 
While from the fluttering wheels are thrown 
Two waving tracks of milk-white foam. 
Away, away! o'er the glassy tide. 
Like an aiiy creature she seems to glide; 
Aside she casts the silvery sp>ray, 
That melts beneath the waves away. 
And a balmy breeze is whispering o'er 
Our prow from off yon sylvan shore, 
Where mses and wild jasmines bloom. 
And violets yield their soft perfume. 

Here while I sit in jDensive mind, 
And listen to the murmuring wind, 
That dimjjles o'er the smiling tide, 
In dreams my senses seem to glide; 
Fond floating visions fill my brain, 
Old friends I seem to greet again; 



220 THE STEAMBOAT. 

My prattling little ones I see 
Again come forth to welcome me ; 
And one, beloved o'er all the rest, 
"Weeps out her joy npon my breast. 

Oh! such sweet dreams must surely be 
Faint shadows of futurity — 
Promises to mortals given — 
Angel whispers breathed from heaven. 
Speed on my boat! like a fairy glide, 
"Who laughs alike at wind and tide, 
O'er dancing waves, through sparkliiig foam, 
Oh ! bear me to my hap23y home. 



'WHEN EARLY BEAMS. 221 

SONG. 

WHEN EARLY BEAMS, ETC. 

When early beams of blushing morn 

Are stealing through the trees ; 
"When sparkling dew-drops deck the lawn, 

And fresh the morning breeze ; 
When rarest beauties meet the eye, 

And honeyed sweets the smell ; 
When on a thousand charming sounds 

The ears delighted dwell : 

Then from care and sadness free, 
My heart in fondness turns to thee. 

When list'ning to the varied songs 

That fill the shady grove — 
Tlie red-breast wild, the merry lark, 

The gently murmuring dove — 
Or to the humming honey-bee 

That sips the clover red. 
Or to the streamlet gurgling o'er 

Its silvery, sandy bed : 

Then my spirit glad and free, 
Lightly bounds away to thee. 



222. TIS PL.EA&ANT. 



'tis pleasant, etc. 

Tis pleasant to watch at the eventide hour 

The sunset soft sinking away ; 
'Tis pleasant to gaze just after the shower 

On the rose in its dripping array ; 
And pleasant it is in the grove to give ear 

To the amorous plaint of tlie dove : 
But to me, ah ! 'tis pleasanter far to be near 

To the beautiful maid that I love. 

The softness of twilight can never compare 

"With the mildness her glances bespeak ; 
No rose ever scattered its sweets to the air 

That can rival the bloom on her cheek ; 
And the musical tones of the sorrowing dove 

Such melody never can pour. 
As the accents that melt on the lips, as they 
move, 

Of the beautiful maid I adore. 



WHEN BRIGHT GAUDY BEAMS. 223 

SONG. 

WHEN THE BRIGHT GAUDY BEA3IS, ETC. 

When the bright gaudy beams of the day have 
departed, 
And silently steal the soft shadows of e'en, 
When instead of the lustre the sunlio;ht im- 
parted. 
The soft touch of twilight has purpled the 
scene ; 
We regret not that down to his rest in the 
ocean, 
Gay Phoebus has driven his dazzling car. 
But we linger to gaze with a deeper emotion 
On the brightening ray of the evening star. 

It is thus, my dear Moll, in the rich sunny glad- 
ness 
Of pleasure I lingered enchanted a day, 
And I turned from the scene with my heart 
filled with sadness, 
When its false glare had passed like the day- 
light away. 



224: WHEN BRIGHT GAUDY BEAMS. 

But in tliee, dearest girl, generous Heaven hath 
shown me 
A soul-soothing radiance no fortune can mar ; 
And oft when the light of thy smile is upon 
me, 
I think of that beautiful evening star. 



THE NOISY OLD MILL. 225 



THE ]N"OISY OLD MILL. 

1839. 

How dear to my heart is the l3right sunny green, 
Through whose vines the white walls of my 

dwelling are seen ; 
No sounds from the world's noisy riot e'er come 
To invade the sweet peace that embosoms my 

home. 
For the soul of tranquillity breathes through the 

air, 
And the bees' and the birds' happy music is 

there, 
Softly murmurs the stream at the foot of the hill ; 
There's a charm for me e'en in the noisy old mill. 

Ah ! sweet 'tis, when forced from these scenes 

now to stray, 
To fancy the eve of that too happy day, 
"When back to my home once returning again. 

And silent and slowly I wind o'er the plain, 
10* 15 



226 THE NOISY OLD MILL. 

Come tlionglits of my wife and my little ones 

dear. 
And tlie smiles of ricli joy tliat will welcome 

me there ; 
And oh ! with what rapture my bosom will thrill 
When aroused by the sound of the noisy old 

mill. 

1859. 
It was thus in the morning of life that I sang, 
'Twas a paean of hope in my bosom that rang, 
And that bright, blessed dream I so longed to 

renew, 
Awaited me always, sweet cottage, in you. 
Where now are those mornings so dewy and 

bright ? 
Those sweet, quiet evenings of peaceful delight? 
When the clear, liquid note of the lone whip- 
poor-will 
Filled the woods that embosomed the noisy old 

mill. 

Many long, dreary years have I wandered since 

then. 
And joined in the strife and the struggles of men, 



THE NOISY OLD MILL. 227 

But my heart grows aweary, nor farther will 

roam, 
And fondly turns back to its sweet country 

liome. 
Tlien comes a reminder all muttering and low: 
"Mem'ry — nothing hut mem'ry is left to thee 

now 
Of a form that is cold and a voice that is still : " 
And I weep when I think of the noisy old mill. 



226 SONG. 



SONG. 

My Mary, wliy does fate tlins sever, 

Thougli the weary period's sliort, 
Hearts like ours, wliose pulse must ever 

Tlirob in torture when apart? 
For one embrace what would I give — 

One precious moment now with thee ; 
A lifetime in a kiss we'd live, 

Nay, nay ! a whole eternity. 

When earth and sky in smiles I see, 

And all around me gay and glad, 
'Tis strange that though I think of thee, 

My heart should he so very sad 
'Tis not that nature is less bright, 

That I no more her charms can see ; 
It is that naught that yields delight 

Can please unless 'tis shared with thee. 



SONG. 229 

But most at night's dull, dreaiy liour, 

Wlieu I, alone, lie down to sleej). 
Thought — busy thought — asserts her power, 

And bids me still my vigils keep. 
Alone, alone, with sleepless eye, 
I count the long hours tolling by, 
And wrapt in tearful ecstasy, 
With all my soul I think of thee. 



230 'TIS ABSENCE PROVES. 



'TIS ABSEKCE PEOYES. 

Tis absence proves witli touchstone rare, 

If firm or frail the heart ; 
Pure gold a shining trace leaves there, 

'No base ore can impart. 

Tried thus and true, hope gently folds 

Her network round the soul, 
And each frail web a fond wish holds, 

To draw it to its goal. 

Thus have I sought within my breast. 

If falseness there could be, 
But every fibre stands impressed 

With constancy to thee. 

Like lark at morn, on upward wings 

My spirit strives to soar, 
And with a loving fancy springs 

Back to its own once more. 



'TIS ABSENCE PROVES. 231 

Clear as yon star, when we're apart, 
Let faith's pure flame then burn. 

Best proof how one devoted heart, 
At least, for thee doth yearn. 

As mountain stream the valley seeks. 

As rivers seek the sea, 
As back the wood its echo speaks. 

So bounds my heart to thee. 



232 THOU ART NOT HEEE. 



SONG. 

THOU ART NOT HP:RE. 

Thou art not here, 

My lieart is lonely ; 
But as when near, 

Beats for tliee only. 
All ! best beloved one. 
In thine own loving tone, 
When wilt thou greet me again, love ; 
"When wilt thou greet me again, love ? 

Each coming morn, 

Night's gloom succeeding. 
Presses the thorn 

In my heart bleeding; 
Aye must its stinging pain 
In this fond heart remain. 
Till it is press'd against thine, love ; 
Till it is pressed against thine, love. 



ABSENCE. 233 



ABSENCE. 

Without, all's dark and cliill and, bleak, 
Tlie mournful nio'lit wind sio-lis: 

It seems unto my lieart to speak 
Of life's realities, 

Of sad and lonely hours, now 
That home's sweet joys are ilown ; 

Oh ! the dull, aching void of heart, 
When one is all alone. 

Yet sweetly will to-morroAv's light 

Chase all this gloom away. 
And to my present lonely night, 

Succeed a smiling day. 



234 FIRST FIRE OF AUTUMN. 



THE FIRST FIEE OF AUTUMN. 

On, liappy fireside ! sweet autumnal eve ! 
When, from the sharp and chilly air without, 
We cluster, as the dusky hour draws near, 
Around the first bright blaze that warms the 

hearth, 
Neglected long, but cheerful once again. 
There is, dear wife! a happiness complete. 
Thus 'mid the prattling of our little ones 
To let the time slip by ; or when their joy 
Is o'er, and sleep hath sent them to their couch 
Of sinless dreams, to sit together by 
This friendly blaze, with spirits hushed and 

still. 
But satisfied ; nor craving aught that the 
Great world, with all its pride and poraj), can on 
Its votaries bestow. Ah ! this indeed 
Is happiness complete — a vision dim, 
Of the bright joys of our celestial home. 



IMPROMPTU. 235 



IMPROMPTU. 

Long years, dear wife, have passed away since 

we, 
Upon the verge of life's expanding scene, 
Stood hand and hand and gazed with trustful 

hearts. 
Far down the dim, uncertain vale of time. 
Long years, alas ! and half our journey here, 
Like a short morning ramble in the fields, 
Already we've com^^leted; many spots 
That charmed us, have we dallied in upon 
The wayside; many buds and flowers have 
We culled, the passing hours to beguile. 
And if some clouds have crossed our sky, soon 

have 
They cleared away and left all bright again. 
Let us not sigh, then, at tlie passing thought. 
That time begins to print some tell-tale marks. 



236 IMTROMPTU. 

Reminding us that we're no longer young. 
For me — as I grow old — ^like others I grow 

blind — 
Blind to thj faults, if faults indeed are think. 
If on thy face some lines too many are 
For beauty's strict requirement — if the rose 
Is fainter on tiiy cheek, and now and then 
A silvery thread steals in among tliy locks 
Of chesnut brown, I see them not, but o'er 
The graces and the youthful charms of all 
The world beside, my eyes unheeding strain 
Until they rest on thee, and then I bless 
My God that thou art all to me, and I 
To thee. 



RETURN HOME. 237 



KETUE^ HOME. 

Oh! liappy, happy, happy day! 
When leaping out npon the quay, 
I bid old hackey whip away, 

And haste me to my Molly. 

For many a weary mile I've been. 
Ear o'er the dark and stormy main. 
But safe and sound I'm back again, 
To see my darling Molly. 

For when in danger, night or day, 
I'd look aloft and to Him pray, 
"Whose voice the seas and winds obey. 
He spared me for my Molly. 

Whip up, my lad ! for here we are, 
Such hearty shouts as rend the air. 
My darling little ones, I swear, 

Among them, too, my Molly. 



238 RETURN HOME. 

Oh! liappy, liappy, happy day! 

Sweet suiisliine round my heart doth play, 

Oh ! that with rapture too it may 

Light up the heart of Molly. 



I AM NOT OLD. 23D 



I AM NOT OLD. 

I AM not old — the count of years 

That age should reckon, are not mine. 
Above me still that height appears, 

Whence downward all man's steps incline. 
None of those marks as yet I bear, 

That in the aged we behold, 
Nor feeble step, nor silvery hair. 

Reminds me that I'm growing old. 

Tet when my senses all betray 

That o'er the earth a change has come, 
That all that once was bright and gay 

Has lost its beauty and its bloom — 
That Heaven my portion has decreed. 

In loneliness to walk among 
Earth's joyous scenes, ah ! then, indeed, 

I know that I'm no longer yomig. 



240 I AM NOT OLD. 

It needs not years to steal away 

The sunshine of a happy heart ; 
Alas ! in one brief, bitter clay, 

The promises of life depart. 
And what is life, when cold and dead 

Lie all the hoj)es to which we've clung, 
And fondly nursed ? Alas ! indeed, 

I feel that I'm no longer young. 

Oh ! let Time's dreaded tide roll on 

Toward yon dim and distant strand. 
Do I not see the form of one 

Tliere beckoning to me with' her hand ? 
Koll on, dark stream ! not thus alone, 

Earth's scenes I care to dwell among ; 
Alas ! quite old my heart has grown. 

And never more can I be young. 



Y 













Ip^rf^ 



